


In the Mouth of the Mad

by hannigramcracker, TimmyJaybird



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Ableist Language, Accidental wetting, Amputation, Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Body Worship, Do not read if you have emetophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Needles, Nightmares, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Recreational Drug Use, Vomiting, handjobs, mentioned JayRoy, past dickbabs, witchy Dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 10:29:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10511913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannigramcracker/pseuds/hannigramcracker, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: A mission gone wrong leaves Slade's life turned upside down. While he tries to pick up the pieces and heal, he's left pushing away the person who simply wants to help the most- Dick. And while the body and mind can overcome so much, the question of each person's limits cannot be ignored.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TJB: We worked on this fic for like, a month and a half. I don't know what happened, it was a simple idea originally... and we took it too far. Heed the tags on this one, definitely.

The smell of rot was something Slade knew, down in his very bones. Knew from years in the field, from years in his work- from tragedy and his own triumphs. That sweet yet rancid smell that stuck like a putrid film to his tongue, his throat, infecting everything around it.

 

It was there now, in his nose and mouth. Sweet and pungent and sickening, making his stomach roll. Something was over his face, trapping the smell, forcing his hot breaths back against him. He huffed another breath, trying to regain feeling beyond consciousness- but he felt like he was separated from his body, floating within himself and unable to reach his nerve endings.

 

Slowly the sounds filtered in. Hushed voices speaking in a language he didn’t know, followed by the echoing cries of agony. He managed to get his fingers to flex, scraping against something beneath him. Hard, grimy along the edges. He huffed another breath, and that putrid stench was everywhere around him. His stomach seized up again, his throat beginning to burn.

 

Something was over him. Something was heavy. He tried to lift his hands but it was hard, and he swore he couldn’t feel below his waist. But another try and his arms slowly lifted, the heavy feeling of a flesh-drape over him being lifted. As it rose up, fell from his face, he was assaulted by all the other scents. Coppery blood and medicine gone bad, piss and the stench of too-wet mud. He swallowed as the sheet- yes, it had to be a sheet, he couldn’t be cocooned in flesh- fell off his face, down his chest. Slade braced his hands on the table, pushed himself up. The feeling made him grimace, made a pained growl rise up in his throat. He felt like hell, like he’d been trampled over and over again-

 

He glanced at the sheet, pooled at his waist. It was stained, rusty blood and mud and stains that could be piss or vomit, he’d never know. His hands fisted in it as it bunched together. His head was pounding, behind his good eye and bad, and he could feel his patch was gone. His hair felt matted, damp. But he couldn’t remember where he was or why.

 

Someone said something, and he looked up. The woman was speaking a tongue he didn’t know, didn’t even recognize, and he could only stare. He kept his mouth in a firm line, even as he began to ache more and more, until there were needles shooting up like fire through one of his legs. He bit at his tongue, nearly broke into it, as it intensified, like someone was tearing at the muscle and bone, trying to sever it-

 

The woman put her hands on his shoulders, tried to push him back down. But Slade shoved her off. He was awake and alive and he didn’t need to be here if he was. There were bandages on his bare chest, along his arms, and god he just wished he could piece it together.

 

He moved, tried to push himself up- but couldn’t find the leverage. Instead of standing he toppled completely off the table, sprawling down on the ground that was mostly trampled mud, despite the flimsy tent erected above them. A field medical station. Which meant he could be anywhere.

 

He clawed at the mud, gritted his teeth. The air was chilled yet heavy, wet, settling on the bare backs of his thighs. His suit was gone, and he was down to his underwear, and the sheet tangling around him. He pushed himself up, looking around, and the pains came back, shooting up his leg. He gasped, mouth falling open, felt his stomach heaving because it was so damn strong.

 

He gagged on it, bile rising in his throat. He fought to keep it down. He’d been maimed over and over again and it had never made him sick. He must have been drugged. Had to be.

 

He tried to stand again, got one knee into the mud- but the other didn’t hit, and he teetered, before the pain was so bad he screamed. His mouth open as he shook, it bounced within his own skull as he collapsed again. He coughed, swallowed down the bile and spit that rose with the pain, left his mouth sour. He managed to roll over onto his back, grasping at the sheet tangled around him and shoving it away, before pushing himself up onto his hands.

 

When he could see, his eyes went wide. The bad one ached as it did so, but not as badly as the leg that wasn’t there. The source of the pain was a phantom, as Slade stared down at a leg that ended mid thigh, the bottom stitched horribly, crooked and oozing. And he realized the smell of rot was coming from him.

 

He turned, clung one hand over his body to brace both in the mud as his stomach surged. He coughed, gagged, before he retched, unable to keep it down any longer. It burned his throat, splashed one of his hands as the stringy bile mingled with the mud, filled in the half a foot printed remaining from someone before. Slade panted, feeling dizzy, strings of saliva hanging off his mouth. He coughed again, the motion making his stomach heave a second time. He groaned with it, a pathetic sort of whine trailing at the end as he trembled, felt suddenly feverish.

 

He needed to get out, get out, get out. This wasn’t right, he was dreaming, he was sick, maybe he was dead. But this wasn’t- this couldn’t-

 

The woman was back, this time with a large man. And when he bent over, grasping at Slade and trying to move him, Slade’s consciousness began to swim again. The shock set in, and when the blackness came back, Slade didn’t fight it- simply let his eyes fall shut because this was wrong and surely he was already dead.

 

*

 

When Slade’s eye opened again, it took a herculean effort to peel back his eyelid. His bad eye twitched, sending shockwaves through his whole body and he moaned, or tried to. He had always thought that the sentiment of one’s tongue being sandpaper was cliche and hyperbolic, but right now he truly understood the phrase. His mouth felt drier than any desert he had ever set foot in. He tried to lick his lips enough to speak and regretted the decision immediately, tasting nothing but dirt and grime on his own lips. The taste mixed with that of stale bile and he coughed, choked really, drawing the attention of the woman standing nearest to him in the tent. 

 

“Water.” Slade breathed, hoping against hope that she would understand him. 

 

His eye slipped closed once more and did not open again until he felt something cool and wet against his lips. He opened it too quickly and colors swirled around him in a nauseating way. He swallowed around the water and gasped when the hand holding the cup caught his eye.

 

The hand was wearing a black glove and the middle two fingers were stained a bright blue. Slade followed the burst of color up past the wrist, to the shoulder, and watched as the stripes seemed to gather and turn at a sharp angle in front of him. He looked up past the chest, collarbone, up the neck and the somewhat blurred visage of Dick Grayson was before him. 

 

“Dick?” He asked, his voice sounding confused, quiet and sloppy. 

 

A questioning sound was made in a language Slade couldn’t recognize and the image shattered before his eyes. In front of him, a woman wearing black rubber gloves, a white medical mask, and a small blue scarf stood with a half empty cup of water in her hand. Slade cursed himself inside and out for thinking that someone as good as Dick Grayson would be in a place as awful as this. 

 

Why would he want to surround himself with disease and rot? Slade was sure Dick wasn’t looking for him - he hadn’t been gone long enough for that, had he? How long had he been sitting here, stewing in his own putrid filth? Even if it had been long enough, Dick would have no reason to come all the way here, wherever here was. He had left no clues, and he was sure of that. 

 

Slade hated himself for hoping that he was going to be saved, for hoping that he wasn’t going to ultimately die here in this hell hole. What part of him thought he deserved that? His head fell back heavily on the surface beneath him, it couldn’t really be called a bed, and he met with blackness again. Silently, a quiet place inside of him appealed to a god who had never cared about him before for a way out. 

 

*

 

When Slade awoke the next time, it was easier to open his eyes, but he wished he hadn’t. Someone was screaming. The voice was hoarse but loud, alarmingly loud. The sound reverberated inside of Slade’s already pounding head. He sat up slightly, trying to get his bearings, trying to assess the situation around him. 

 

The first thing he noticed was the trail of blood on the floor. It sunk into the mud and created a system of intricate rivulets leading from the flap door of the tent to the rickety gurney the person screaming was laying on. There was a flurry of activity around them, four women were crowding and wiping away blood and bits of skin and dropping starkly stained towels on the ground around them. They were trying to hold the man down, and it was a man, Slade noted as another scream tore the air. 

 

Another poor man just like him, winding up here in the middle of nowhere at the mercy of these anonymous women in their masks. He wailed again and Slade winced, the sound somehow causing him real and tangible pain. His skin crawled with it and he clenched his teeth and his fists. He wanted to look away from the scene unfolding in front of him, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He wondered if he was in such a state when he was brought in here, or if they had truly thought him dead until he had woken up. 

 

The women parted slightly around the cot and Slade caught a glimpse of the victim, or what was left of him. 

 

Slade’s insides were doused in ice as he saw the man flailing an arm that was cut off just above the elbow. Nothing was left but an ill-formed stump, bleeding freely. Slade thought he could see a small circle of bone peeking through. For a moment, he had felt that he was outside of his body, watching this from somewhere hidden in the shadow. He came back to his body in an unwelcome rush as he was reminded of the reason that he was still stuck here. 

 

And with that realization came pain. All the pain that he had been too foggy or too drugged to feel was present now, and making up for lost time. He groaned loudly, but it was lost beneath the man’s shouts as the nurses stitched his arm up with the same thick and unsanitary looking thread that Slade had keeping his own leg together. Panic rose in his chest again and he gagged against it. He swallowed, heavily, trying to keep the water he had been able to drink earlier down. His body tensed and Slade swore he felt his nonexistent leg twitch. The sensation had vomit crawling up the back of his throat again. 

 

The stench of rot and blood became even stronger and Slade could no longer focus on the man bleeding and swearing on the other end of the small tent. He shifted his gaze to the ceiling to try to breathe through the pain that had made a home in every cell of his body. Out of the corner of his eye, again he saw a blur of blue and black, a mop of messy hair and a smile, but when he looked back there was nothing to be seen. 

Once more, Slade succumbed to the pain and the darkness, that same small piece of him from before hoping that next time he wouldn’t have to open his eyes again. 

 

*

 

This hope went unanswered, as they often do. 

 

A new kind of commotion had overtaken the tent. The women were circled in a corner, seemingly trying to speak with a visitor. Slade tried to swallow and his throat clicked painfully. He found that he didn’t even care who could be here. Maybe it would be someone to put him out of his misery finally. If only he could be so lucky. 

 

Their chatter still made no sense, no matter how hard he tried to understand it. He thought maybe he could understand one voice among the throngs of others, but when he listened closer and recognized it he knew it was only his mind playing cruel tricks on him again. There was no way that Dick was here speaking with these women, or trying to at least. He had to be dreaming. 

 

His skin felt hot and his breathing was ragged. He felt weak, boneless, heavy and he hated himself for it. Pain began to reach its icy tendrils around his veins and joints and he felt his eyes become wet with it. He dug his skull back into the surface beneath him, feeling the cheap cushion give a bit. 

 

A blur from the outskirts of his vision told him that the crowd of nurses had parted and a figure was running into the tent. Slade didn’t turn his gaze to investigate. He didn’t care. What did it matter? If this was someone that wasn’t supposed to be there, he wouldn’t be able to fight them off in this state anyway. The blur began to check the other beds in the tent, peeling back sheets on the tables that held the bodies of the poor souls that had passed during that day and hadn’t been taken outside of the tent to god knows where yet. From the smell of the place, Slade figured they just piled the dead right outside. 

 

The blur was coming closer and Slade wanted to close his eye but something inside of him wouldn’t allow it. As the person checked the gurney of the man who had lost his arm, Slade saw blue again with a fresh pang of longing. Mentally, he chided himself until the person was at his bedside. 

 

“Slade?” a hushed whisper, the voice trembling slightly. 

 

Slade’s eye snapped down from the tan tapestry of the ceiling and locked with a mask that he knew well. He looked away again almost immediately, not wanting to fall into the madness his mind seemed so quick to supply. 

 

“Slade.” A hand rested on his shoulder, tentatively. He yowled in pain and tried to flinch away, but the bed was small and he knocked himself off balance and fell into this person’s arms. 

 

A new smell was introduced to Slade’s senses. New, but somehow old and familiar. Something that was so different from the stench that surrounded everything here. He moaned and pressed his face into it without really meaning to. 

 

“Fuck, Slade, please. Can you hear me?” 

 

Slade looked up and finally took in the person holding his torso in a delicate grip. It was, without a doubt, Dick Grayson in full Nightwing gear. 

 

“Are you really here?” Slade hated how small his voice sounded. 

 

“Yes. It’s me. I’m here. I’m here.” Dick repeated, almost to himself. “What did they do to you?” 

 

Slade realized that a sheet was still covering the bottom of his body and something like a scornful laugh filtered up through him before Dick placed him back on his cot. Dick shifted the sheet and caught sight of his missing limb and barely suppressed a gasped gag. The sheet dragging across the open and still leaking wound caused enough pain to make Slade pass out yet again, falling back onto the bed without ceremony, hearing Dick’s shouts of his name become garbled and disappear entirely.

 

*

 

He faded in and out. Slade lost time, lost hours and maybe even days, he would never truly know. He came to in a feverish fit of hysterics, clawed at what remained of his leg and swore it was there there there. There were hands that held him down, and a voice that apologized profusely, before a pinch and a burn, the sweet kiss of a needle, and he was out again.

 

There were other incidents, but nothing stuck with him until he was waking up on something far softer than the cot he first had. He grimaced, didn’t open his eyes as the dull ache in his head came to. It webbed out behind his eyes and back along his brain, hooking into his skull and pulling tight. He groaned, tossed his head, let his good eye crack open against the sparks.

 

He recognized this. This was familiar, this room, the curtains that draped half open. The altar across the room, the somewhat sweet scent burning in the air- Dick’s favorite incense.

 

This was home.

 

He licked his lips. They were cracked, dry, and his throat was scratchy, his tongue feeling like sandpaper wrapped lead. He tried to sit up, but let out a sharp gasp, sparks of agony moving through him as he moved. He let himself collapse back down into the bed, sucking in a breath too quickly and making himself dizzy, making his stomach roll. He’d never been  _ sensitive _ but it seemed even moving his eyes too quickly was going to make him nauseous.

 

He heard the footsteps, quick through the apartment, and then the door that was only half closed being shoved open. Dick appeared by his side, leaning over the bed and settling his hand on his shoulder. “You’re awake,” he said.

 

There were bags under his eyes. His hair was clipped back, had that hint of  _ grease _ that meant it hadn’t been washed in a good thirty six hours. But he was here, he was breathing, his hand was  _ warm _ and Slade had to close his eye.

 

“How are you feeling?” Dick asked. Slade only groaned. To do more would make his throat ache, and his leg was  _ screaming _ at him, along with his head. He felt the bed shift, and Dick was sitting down next to him, his hand moving to Slade’s chest, sliding over the cotton of his tshirt.

 

Slade realized Dick had dressed him. He’d gotten a look at the sorry shape he was in, and  _ that _ would be seared into his memory, not the way Slade’s body used to look bracketing him down onto the bed-

 

“You’re on a lot of meds baby,” Dick offered, fingers tracing where the blanket ended on Slade’s chest. “I had to call in Dr. Thompkins to look at your leg. It was infected-  _ badly _ . Were you anyone else you’d probably be dead.” Slade cracked his eye open, and Dick looked hurt that he’d even had to say it.

 

Slade wondered if there was a  _ you swore to be careful _ speech within the boy. If it would fizzle out in anger in Dick’s mind, because he wouldn’t  _ lay that _ on Slade now. But that didn’t mean he didn’t know it was there.

 

“She had to redo the stitching completely. You’re on enough drugs to probably level a damn  _ rhino _ .” Dick shook his head. “I had to  _ look _ for you.”

 

Slade reached up, very carefully pushed Dick’s hand off his chest then. He sat up, slowly, baring his teeth because his leg was still  _ screaming _ , the stitches pulling, the wound burning. And there was this sharp pin like stab where there was nothing at all. Through his dingy hair, hanging free in his face, along his shoulders, he stared at Dick with his good eye, watched his lover shrink back in a way he hadn’t since he was a  _ child _ , well before this had ever happened.

 

“You didn’t have to do a damn thing, Grayson.” The words were a struggle. Slade’s saliva was thick and tacky from his dry throat, and his stomach was beginning to clench up painfully, to swim. It was the cocktail of drugs he was sure, and an empty stomach, he knew how these things worked. Yet the idea of putting anything in his body was impossible to keep down.

 

Dick narrowed his eyes, stood up quickly from the bed. “ _ Really _ Slade? Really? I didn’t have to do a damn thing? Because the sorry state you’re in begs to fucking differ. You were halfway across the world  _ rotting _ among the dead.” Dick reached up, dug his fingers into his hair, nearly dislodging the little bobby pins. “And you’re going to sit here and act  _ proud _ .” Dick shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m shocked.” He turned at that, storming for the door, slamming it shut behind him.

 

Slade swore the walls shook with the force. And the anger, it was something Slade had seen in Dick before, explosive, corrosive, honed by that  _ Bat _ he so wanted to be nothing like on his bad days. And yet there was more Bruce within Dick than Slade could ever tell him.

 

Slade stared at the closed door. And he shouldn’t have lashed out, but he was sick with himself over thinking what Dick was seeing, now. Slade had been riddled with bullets and pulled through just fine. He’d taken swords through the gut and come out with a damn bandaged belly, taken a few shots of whiskey, and bent Dick over the bed  _ still _ like it was just another night.

 

But  _ this _ .

 

He turned, stared down at the blanket. It was heavy, the one they  _ slept _ under. Slade knew Dick hadn’t slept in the bed since he’d brought him home, the space next to him would be cool to the touch if he reached out. That meant he was on the couch, if he was sleeping at all. Which would explain his easiness to  _ snap _ \- Dick and over exhaustion always bred  _ Bruce _ .

 

Slade grabbed at the blanket, peeling it off his body. He stared at the skin pressed to the hem of his briefs. One leg was a little paler already, though it was hard to tell as it was mostly bandaged. He dragged his stare down it, to where it ended, mid thigh, now wrapped in a neat, sterile bandage.

 

It had to be  _ wrong _ . It all had to be wrong. Slade was a  _ beast _ , was a god in man’s flesh, wouldn’t be tamed or maimed. He was the  _ terminator _ , and yet here he lay, in pieces.

 

He reached down, pressed his hand to the bandage. It ached, and as he slid further, the pain grew, until his fingers curled, got the tender edge of the wound. He pressed and felt his stomach heave over the pure agony, barely could manage to turn, to grasp the edge of the bed and lean over.

 

He coughed, felt his insides squeezing tight as he vomited. His throat burned, and he couldn’t remember being sick so often in his life, not since he was a  _ boy _ . There was nothing in him though, nothing but medication, and it left his mouth a sour sort of chalk, left him dry heaving over that alone. He leaned further, because a part of him was repeating over and over again that  _ Dick _ had picked this blanket out and if he  _ soiled _ it-

 

He miscalculated. His balance was unstable from the medication, the exhaustion, the infection, and he toppled over. He crashed onto the wood floor, his shoulder taking the brunt of the hit. But when his wound hit the floor Slade  _ screamed _ , gagged again because it hurt like nothing ever had. He splayed a hand on the floor, barely pushing himself up as he spat out thick saliva that tasted like rot still, to him. He groaned, huffing for breath, didn’t think he could actually move- and all he wanted to do was collapse.

 

Maybe he wished Dick had never  _ come _ . If he was going to be this… maybe he  _ should _ have died, half way across the world, alone in the mud amongst the carion. Should have ceased to be anything but a damn  _ memory _ .

 

He heard the door open again, Dick”s quick footsteps, and then his lover on was his knees next to him, reaching out, getting his arms around him. “It’s okay,” Dick said, and his voice was shaking. He eased Slade to lean against him, and Slade couldn’t fight it, sagged like dead weight onto a man who he had prized himself in being able to throw over his shoulder, only weeks prior. “I’m here,” Dick whispered, reaching up, brushing Slade’s hair back, ignoring the fact that he was half naked, sprawled on the floor, that he’d thrown up like a  _ child _ . “I’m  _ here _ .”

 

It sounded desperate and broken. And silently, Slade was sure if he was going to break Dick, he had been far better off dead.

 

“Let’s get you back into bed, baby. Do you think you’ll be sick again?” 

Dick’s voice was quiet and sweet, much more caring than Slade thought he deserved. He had just shouted at the man. Slade knew that he had every right to shout and be fucking  _ angry _ but he knew better than to take it out on Dick, on the one person who cared enough to find him, the only person in the world who wasn’t upset at the prospect of a grown man vomiting all over his bedroom floor. Slade shook his head slowly, not trusting his voice. His stomach was cramping horribly, but he knew there was not even any more stomach acid inside of him to bring up. 

Slade grunted through his clenched teeth as Dick lifted him up from under his armpits and gently set him back into the bed. Slade tried not to think about how the action mirrored what he used to do to Dick and never would be able to again. He used to carry Dick to bed just for fun, and now he couldn’t even support his own weight. Slade squeezed his eyes shut as Dick dutifully covered his legs -  _ what’s left of them _ , his mind supplied - with the comforter that he had tried so hard to keep clean earlier. 

“Let me get you something to drink, okay? I’ll get you some more meds for your stomach, too.” Dick spoke quickly and was out of the room and back faster than Slade even registered. Dick must have been right about how many tranquilizers he was on. Gratefully, he took the medicine Dick offered and allowed Dick to help him hold the glass of water as he drank from it. “Small sips, Slade.” Dick reminded and Slade was wont to challenge him, until his stomach started to cramp up again. 

He pushed the glass away from his cracking and metallic-tasting lips before leaning back into the pillows against their headboard -  _ too many pillows, the damn kid always wants  _ so _ many pillows -  _ sighing and closing his eye once more. 

He heard Dick moving around on the floor at by the side of the bed and felt a hot pang of embarrassment when his mind slowly realized that Dick was cleaning up the mess he had made. He kept his eye shut while he listened to Dick move around. He began to feel fuzzy around the edges, and he wondered if it was more than just an anti-emetic that Dick had given him. His fingertips felt like pins and needles were poking up beneath his nails, but it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation. He heard Dick leave the room, heard the water in the bathtub running. When he came back, Slade heard Dick strike a match and then a small huff of breath as he blew out the flame on what Slade recognized was a new stick of incense as its sweet smoke filled room. 

Slade only opened his eye again when he felt Dick sit on the bed next to him and place one of his slender hands on top of his own. 

“Do you need anything?” 

Slade considered this for a moment as he looked at the beautiful boy in his bed, perfect and whole. Too perfect and whole for the trainwreck that Slade Wilson was on a good day. And now? Now Slade truly wasn’t sure he would ever have a good day again. He didn’t want to become a burden for Dick to bear, he didn’t want to be baggage, a responsibility. There was something there in Dick’s eyes though, something that suggested the opposite of Slade’s thoughts. And maybe it was the medication, maybe it was the days (weeks?) of having no familiar faces and no one to speak to, maybe the constant pain was fraying at his nerve endings that caused part of his brain collapse in on itself, to regress and actually  _ want  _ to allow Dick to care for him.

Slade’s hand twitched beneath Dick’s and he swallowed around a horrific taste in his mouth. His teeth felt almost gummed over with grime and suddenly he was very aware of the fact that he had not been able to perform even the most basic tasks of personal hygiene for who knows  _ how _ long. He swore he could taste mud beneath his tongue, blood caked in the cracks of his teeth, and the ever lingering and overwhelmingly sour aftertaste of vomit. 

“W’nna brush my teeth.” Slade slurred out. The drug Dick had given him was definitely affecting his speech. 

Dick nodded, his mouth hung in a half smile. “Yeah, I bet you do. Let’s go work on getting you cleaned up then,” 

Dick stood and Slade realized that his request would mean that he had to move. That he would have to  _ stand  _ and that he would have to rely on Dick to help him navigate the few steps into their bathroom. For the moment Slade could swallow his pride. Just for the moment. 

Tomorrow he would be better. Tomorrow he would find a way to take care of himself. 

“Dr. Thompkins left us a wheelchair.” Dick stated, trying to sound flippant. “I can go get it. If you want.” 

“ _ No.” _ Slade growled before the words were even entirely out of Dick’s mouth. He didn’t need a wheelchair. He wasn’t a fucking  _ invalid.  _

_ Yes you are  _ his mind corrected, but Slade held his ground. 

“Okay.” Dick said, his voice was entirely unruffled but Slade could see him working to keep his expression schooled. “I’ll help you.” 

The few steps to the bathroom were agonizing. Slade had not accounted for the way that his stitches would rub and pull as he leaned on Dick and practically hopped through the room. Gravity played into his pain as well, sending blood rushing to the gnarled stump of his leg. It throbbed and the places that weren’t even there anymore pricked with sharp anguish. 

Once they passed the threshold of the bathroom, Dick helped Slade sit on the plush bathmat, some ridiculously fluffy thing that he had made fun of Dick for coming home with before, but he was happy with its existence in the moment. He leaned heavily against the lip of the tub, breathing roughly. Hatred swelled again, he had spent evenings running around a dirty city without even breaking a sweat, but walking ten feet had him panting for breath. 

Dick pressed a chaste kiss to Slade’s forehead before he stood up and rinsed and applied toothpaste to Slade’s toothbrush. Slade took it from Dick’s hand when he offered it and stuck it into his mouth, nearly moaning with the refreshing taste of mint that washed over his tastebuds. Slowly and delicately he began to run the bristles over his teeth, rubbing gently at the buildup of plaque and grime. After a few minutes, Dick provided him an empty cup and one full of water. Slade swished the water and spit into the empty cup, trying not to notice the almost gray color of the suds that made his stomach twist in an unpleasant way. Dick took all the items away when Slade was finished and rinsed his toothbrush before kneeling on the ground on Slade’s good side and curling into him. 

“Will you let me wash your hair? I think that’ll make you feel a lot better.” 

Slade considered Dick’s offer, and realized he would give anything to have Dick’s deft fingers carding through his hair and untangling the matts he knew were present. If his teeth were as bad as they were, he couldn’t imagine how greasy and horrid his hair was. He almost felt self conscious of Dick touching it, but even the thought of keeping his arms up for that length of time exhausted him. 

“Yeah.” Slade breathed, sighing again as Dick reached back and turned the faucet of the tub on. 

He coaxed Slade into a more comfortable position and hung as much of his hair as he could over the wall of the tub. He grabbed one of the cups from before and filled it, testing the water as he went. 

“Tell me if it’s too warm.” 

Slade nodded as Dick soaked his hair, section by section with cupfuls of water. Slade made a small sound in the back of his throat when the warm water hit his scalp and Dick kept going, pouring fresh water over each and every strand of hair. By the time he was lathering shampoo between his hands, Slade felt the most relaxed he had in days. Yes, the pain was still angry and ever present, but he had somethinDg else to focus on now. He had Dick’s slow and deliberate breathing in his ear, he had Dick’s hands in his hair. 

Slade moaned openly when Dick began massaging the soap into his scalp. Dick laughed a little and it was music to Slade’s ears. 

“Is that good?” 

Slade, instead of answering, took a breath and asked his own question, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could really think about them or try to stop them. “Dick...where was I?” 

Dick went quiet, his hands still gently working the soap through Slade’s hair. Slade waited, before he felt Dick lean just a little closer. “Does it matter?” he asked, his voice barely hiding the way it almost cracked. “You’re home now.”

Slade supposed he was right. At least he had that- at least he was home.

*

 

He was lucky if he slept four hours without interruption. Slade tried to toss, and the pain it roused in him would jar him awake- or worse, the nightmares would wake him to a tight throat and bile threatening to spill over his lips.

 

He’d never had a problem with nightmares. He’d been through hell more times than he could count, he’d seen unthinkable torture, had given it himself. The only thing that had ever caused nightmares on a recurring basis had been when he lost Grant, and even those had eventually faded.

 

So to wake up terrified with his heart pounding multiple times a night- and day- was strange.

 

This time was no different. Slade woke with a snap of his good eye, his mouth falling open in a gasp, as his stomach tightened so badly it hurt. His hand reached up, under the blanket, grasping at it through his tshirt, as he clamped his mouth shut. He tried to push through the smell of explosive smoke, of blood and  _ bone _ , and focused on keeping what little was in his stomach down. He still hadn’t been able to eat much, but he was drinking at least. He’d had an IV of fluids at some point in the past seven hours maybe? He wasn’t entirely sure about time.

 

He inhaled slowly through his nose, felt his stomach settling. His hand was trembling though- and the one in the blanket was, as well. He grunted, tried to still them, groaning as his stomach cramped again, his bladder possibly one of the reasons he had woken up.

 

He shoved the blanket back, forcing himself to  _ not look _ , not wanting to see the bandaged remains of his leg. He felt a little foggy from sleep and the drugs, a cocktail of painkillers and antibiotics that were still not quite strong enough, but better than  _ nothing at all _ . Instead he stared at the closed bedroom door, feeling like it was so far away.

 

He could have called for Dick. It wasn’t fully dark outside, he had left the bedroom curtains open. The sun was just getting ready to set, so he’d be  _ home _ . Not that he had left since Slade had come home. He was just a single call of his voice away.

 

But Slade didn’t  _ want _ that. He didn’t want to depend on Dick to come walk him to the damn  _ bathroom _ \- or worse, help him into the chair Doctor Thompkins had left. Dick had left it in the room, and Slade had been in it  _ once _ and hated it. He’d nearly thrown himself out of it to get back on the bed.

 

It was close now, left so that if he leaned, if he reached his arm out, he could grab the handle on the back, could pull it to him. Slade stared at it, before looking at the door again- and deciding it was the lesser blow to his pride, in that moment.

 

And Slade was, through and through, a very proud man.

 

He reached out, stretching to try and grasp the handle. The pressure on his bladder hurt, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t woken up before  _ now _ . His fingers almost brushed the handle, but not quite. He frowned, his brows knitting together, before he reached again, his shoulder aching over the stretch. His balance wasn’t right, though, with all the medication, and the moment he had a gentle grasp on the handle his body was fully lurching forward. He gave a sharp gasp, trying to steady himself, but to no avail. Slade tumbled right out of the bed, the blanket dragging with him. The crash was loud, had his breath being shoved out of his lungs as he landed on his belly. He narrowly missed hitting his head, ended with it pooled on one arm as the crash had him shaking.

 

He was sucking in his first real breath, trying to steady himself, when he felt the pressure suddenly  _ giving _ . The ache in his stomach turned to relief, and he couldn’t  _ stop it _ . He felt the wet warmth spreading through his boxer briefs, onto the damn floor, the blanket he had worked so hard to keep from getting sick on. Slade bit his lip, denied himself the pathetic whine in his throat over this, over the state he was in.

 

Pissing himself on the bedroom floor, like a goddamn broken  _ child _ .

 

Worse was the feeling of gut wrenching  _ shame _ when he heard the rushed steps, and then the bedroom door opening. “Slade?” Dick sounded concerned, and Slade couldn’t bring himself to raise his head. The keening whine escaped him finally, but he didn’t look up, kept his head down, kept himself hidden behind his hair as Dick hurried over, getting down on the floor. “Baby-”

 

“Get away from me.” The words were bitter, sharp, and Slade, through his hair, caught Dick recoiling, his hand hovering in the air. “Don’t touch me.”

 

“But-”

 

“Get  _ away _ .” Slade pushed himself up slightly, glared with his single eye at Dick. His lover recoiled further, those pretty eyes that Slade swore were a damn drug wide and confused. “Don’t fucking  _ touch me _ .”

 

“I can’t leave you on the floor I have to…” Dick trailed off, glancing along Slade, noticing the small puddle now, the large wet patch on their blanket. “Oh  _ Slade _ .”

 

Slade hated how  _ sorry _ Dick sounded, in that moment. And he wanted to scream that he belonged there, on the damn floor. Let him rot in his own piss, let him suffocate on his own bile- but god, do  _ not _ let Dick Grayson seem him reduced to this.  _ Not his Dick _ .

 

Dick reached out again, brushed Slade’s hair back. And Slade couldn’t fight it, was too sick with himself. “Come on,” Dick said, “let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” He stood up, bending over and carefully pulling the blanket back off Slade, leaving it in a rumpled mess. Slade watched the patterns on it seem to distort, felt like he had soiled something  _ sacred _ in their bedroom. The bedset had been one of the first things they’d bought for this place  _ together _ , and Dick had been so happy.

 

And Slade had taken him so  _ hard _ that first night.

 

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” Dick said, heading for the door. Slade didn’t move, he listened to him going through doors. He heard lights, figured Dick was in the bathroom, and then the hall closet- and when he came back Slade knew he was right with the towels Dick was holding. Dick laid one out in the seat of the wheelchair, before he got back on his knees. “Let’s get you sitting up,” Dick said, helping Slade roll over. He sat up, but had to look away when Dick pressed the towel over his groin. “Can I get you out of these before we head to the bathroom?”

 

Slade wasn’t sure there was a  _ choice _ . But watching Dick curl the fingers of one hand in his underwear, the other arm having to go around his waist, to help lift Slade so he could, it was agonizing. More so to see the fabric fall off the bandaged remains of his leg, yet be dragged down the length of the other.

 

Once Slade was naked, Dick stood up, turning the chair a bit to get it in a better position. Then he was back, getting his arms beneath Slade’s, wrapped around him, slowly pulling him up. Slade leaned heavily on him, winced because somehow his leg  _ hurt _ so badly, despite that nothing was touching it. He managed to turn, to sink down into the chair, onto the towel, and then Dick was behind it, turning and wheeling him out into the apartment and towards the bathroom.

 

Dick settled the chair right by the tub, and Slade felt a cold sweat breaking out over his spine. Dick had set up the little chair the doctor had left them in the tub, so that Slade could sit  _ comfortably _ while Dic sponged him clean.

 

Slade would rather be dead than within his own home, in that moment.

 

“Dick-”

 

“I’ll help you in,” he said, “and I’ll get you cleaned up, and you can maybe rest in the living room while I clean up the bedroom, okay?” He sounded tired but not mad, and Slade had no idea how. He was taking care of a full grown  _ adult _ who couldn’t do the simplest things- he would have been livid.

 

He was incapable of imagining if this was reversed, if this was Dick. Because he couldn’t bare to wish this sudden change on the man he  _ loved _ .

 

Dick bent over, got his hands on Slade’s sides, and Slade wanted to tell him no. Wanted to tell him he didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to be touched, didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to sit in  _ that _ in the tub where he used to lay out with Dick between his legs. Where Dick burnt candles and they made love in the otherwise dark, sloshed water over the sides and laughed over it.

 

But he didn’t have a voice, felt shrunken inside himself. And all he could do was let Dick move him, do his best to support himself. He was silent as Dick very carefully cleaned him, stared off into space and receded back into himself.

  
Inside, he was back in that tent. He was halfway across the world. And he was dying. He was rotting from the bottom up with mud stuck in his teeth and blood in his throat, and he was  _ happy _ . Happy because anything,  _ anything _ , was better than this.


	2. Chapter 2

Slade found himself sitting on the couch in their living room, numbed to everything except the lingering smell of incense mixing with the lavender soap Dick had used to wash his hair. He was in a daze, still internalizing everything that was happening and had happened to him. He hadn't said much to Dick while he helped clean him up. Slade was too ashamed - too humiliated to even make eye contact. 

 

There was a piece of him that desperately wanted -  _ needed  _ \- the comfort that Dick was so willing to provide. But the proud pieces, the stubborn pieces, of him outweighed them. Slade was always supposed to be the one caring for Dick, and it broke him apart to have it be the other way around, to have to rely so heavily on Dick. 

 

As it was, Slade was washing down his most recent shot of painkillers with a cup of tea that was so perfectly warm and spiced. Dick’s skill at making tea was absolutely unmatched. He never asked the boy how he did it, he was sure it wasn’t a skill that he could pick up himself, so he left it to Dick. Dick’s hands were adept at adding the perfect amount of different herbs and spices to balance and play off of one another on his palate. He knew Dick hand picked certain herbs that were designed to help him feel better. Slade wouldn’t be surprised if there was a bit of mugwort infused in this brew to keep him docile. He couldn’t blame Dick for it, truly he was almost thankful for it. Anything for a slight escape that didn’t come in the form of the heady rush of morphine. He hated spending time around himself, or what was left of himself, and he could only imagine how Dick must have been feeling. But bless that man, he held his tongue if he was thinking anything unpleasant. 

 

Slade was sipping at the last of the tea when Dick came back into the living room. A few minutes ago, he had watched Dick carry the balled up comforter out of their bedroom and into the laundry room without a word. He was sure Dick would wash the sheets as well, for good measure. Slade was silently thankful for that, he was sure he had sweat through them a handful of times since they had been changed last. He’d probably end up having to buy them a new mattress once this whole ordeal was over. The thought came with a pain in his chest as he wondered - hoped - that Dick would still have him once he had picked up what he could of the broken pieces of himself. 

 

“Hey, baby.” Dick said softly, sitting down gingerly on the couch next to him. He held a large chunk of something light purple that shone in the dim light in both of his hands, running his fingers across the definitions and grooves in the stone. Slade recognized it immediately as amethyst. If any of Dick’s knowledge had rubbed off on him, it was how to identify a few of his favorite stones. 

 

“Hi.” Slade whispered back, wishing that his voice had the strength to be louder. He felt quiet and reserved, mellowed out of the mix of the drugs and the tea. Dick handed him the hunk of amethyst and held his fingers over Slade’s hands, making him close his fists around it. 

 

“I’m going to change your bandages, and I thought you might want that to hang on to. I know you’ve just taken your meds, but it still will probably hurt,” Dick mumbled, pressing a kiss to the back of Slade’s hand. 

 

Slade knew that it was going to hurt, his leg hurt enough without being touched. He thanked Dick softly for the stone, truly grateful for the distraction. If Dick believed that it would help, then he could too. Dick pressed one more kiss to Slade’s forehead before setting on the floor in front of him. Slade watched as his deft hands poised above his wound. 

 

“Tell me if you need me to stop.” 

 

Slade nodded, not trusting his voice as Dick began to peel back the bandages. Almost immediately, he had to look away. The sight of the absence of his limb coupled with the wound that was still fresh and oozing slightly into the bandages turned his stomach. He swore he could still smell the pus that lingered inside the wound. He knew he couldn’t, knew Dr. Thompkins had done a good job of him, but he couldn’t help the twist in his gut. It had the tea he had just finished threatening to come back up. He could almost feel it at the back of his throat, pressing against his tongue threateningly. 

 

He took a deep breath as Dick finished peeling the bandage away entirely. He set it on the floor next to him, folded into a neat pile before he slid a pair of gloves on his hands. Blue. Just like the gloves the nurses wore back in that god forsaken tent, Slade heard Dick say something about flushing his wound and he grit his teeth against the sharp bite of antiseptic. Slade groaned with it, tightening his grip around the amethyst he still held.

 

The pain was truly unbearable, and Slade had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from screaming. He could hear Dick calling to him, supplying him with reassurances, but it was all too much. Just like that, Slade was no longer sitting in their living room, safe and being taken care of. Instead, he was back in the hell he had been rescued from. 

 

Their living room dissolved around him and instead of being replaced with the tent Slade had spent days in, he was in a hut that he barely remembered seeing. He was strapped to a bed and he could barely see and it was pouring outside. He could hear the rain ricocheting off of the trees just outside. He was faced with three white men, all wearing different looks of anger and reproach. One had a something that looked like an overlarge handsaw, complete with terrifying rust settling around the teeth. He was coming closer to Slade and he could do nothing about it. He was restrained, and he didn’t even know the information that these men were after. The man came nearer still, and Slade actually screamed when the saw met his skin and ground its way inside. 

 

His scream reverberated around their living room, and Dick was looking at him with alarm. Slade knew he was  _ here  _ and he was  _ safe  _ but his brain was telling him otherwise. His chest constricted and he couldn’t fucking  _ breathe.  _ He was back there, where ever  _ there  _ was, and he was getting his body hacked apart. He tried to suck in a breath, but it only brought nausea. 

 

“Slade. Slade, baby, you’re okay. I’m here.” Dick’s voice cut through his panic, but it wasn’t enough. Even his hands on Slade’s shoulders in an attempt to ground him wasn’t enough.  _ Nothing  _ was enough, and Slade could feel himself slipping. 

 

He tried to breathe again, tried to take Dick’s gentle coaxing and tried to breathe with him, but it was nearly useless. His lungs felt collapsed and this was it. He was actually going to die here. He had made it out of whatever hell he had been trapped in only to suffocate while sitting on the couch in their living room. Somehow, Slade thought that was fitting in his dazed state. 

 

“Baby, breathe with me. It’s all okay, I’m done with your bandages now. I’m here, and you’re here too.” Dick was still speaking to him. His voice was calm and measured, even though Slade could tell that he was upset about this sudden change in the situation as well. Dick was now next to him on the couch, rubbing a steadying circle on his back. Slade tried his best to focus on the feeling, on the awareness of Dick being so close to him. 

 

Finally, he was able to choke down a breath and nearly gagged with the force of the cough that followed. He squeezed his eye shut, trying to breathe around the renewed nausea. It wasn’t going to help, and Slade knew it. Dick must have too, because when Slade reached over for him he was stretched across the couch, reaching for the small basin he had brought the medical supplies from the bedroom in with. 

 

“G’nna puke-” Slade barely had time to gasp before he was retching into his mouth, cupping a hand around his lips. 

 

Dick rubbed a hand up Slade’s good thigh, reassuring him anew, and holding the small blue basin beneath his mouth. Slade clung to Dick’s wrist and vomited into the plastic, narrowly avoiding getting sick on both of them. Dick was steady next to him as he heaved, bringing up the tea he had barely even begun to digest. It spilled forth in a liquid torrent, disgusting and loud. 

 

“You’re okay, baby. Get it out. That’s it.” Dick talked him through it, and Slade didn’t even have the energy to hate himself like he wanted to. 

 

As his retches turned to dry heaves, Slade fell back against the couch, tears forming in his eyes. Dick stretched again, placing the full basin on the table at the other edge of the couch, before pressing himself up against Slade’s good side. Slade clung to Dick immediately, a dry sob filtering out of his throat. His fist was buried in Dick’s tshirt and Dick was nuzzled into the space of Slade’s neck, pressing small kisses to the uncovered skin. 

 

Slade sobbed for a few moments, holding Dick tighter and tighter. The very last thing he wanted was to let Dick go, and yet he knew that he was pushing the other man away with the way he was acting. While some ugly part of him didn’t want to put Dick through this, he knew that he couldn’t do this  _ without  _ Dick. And even though he still wasn’t sure that he  _ wanted  _ to continue like this, he knew he needed to stop hurting Dick with his actions and words. 

 

“Dick. Dick, I’m so  _ sorry. _ ” Slade said into the top of Dick’s head. His voice came out much stronger than he had anticipated. 

 

“Baby, you have nothing to be sorry about. It’s okay. I’m here.” 

 

“ _ Yes. _ ” Slade nearly growled. Images of the soaked comforter came to mind and Slade’s chest was in a vice again. It wasn’t even  _ about  _ the comforter or the fact that he had pissed himself, it was the symbolism of it. He was single handedly destroying the relationship he and Dick had spent so much time working to create by being so stubborn, by being so closed off. “I have no reason to be treating you like this.” 

 

“You’re not treating me like anyth-”

 

“Yes I am, and you know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re taking care of me, and I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.” 

 

Dick was silent, kissing Slade’s collarbone again, agreeing without saying a thing. 

 

“Thank you. Please don’t let me push you away. I’m so sorry.” 

 

Dick whispered soft reassurances into Slade’s skin again. “I’m not going anywhere, baby. I promise you that.” 

 

Slade nodded, suddenly exhausted as the anxiety left him in a rush. He felt boneless and felt himself drooping. 

 

Dick quickly gathered him against his chest and switched their position so Slade was leaning on him, with his legs stretched down the length of the couch. Dick looped his fingers through Slade’s hair, playing absently with the ends. Slade could feel sleep on the edges of his vision. He was happy to fall asleep so close to Dick for the first time in what felt like ages. 

 

“I love you, Dick.” Slade whispered, feeling himself falling asleep. 

 

“I love you too,  _ draga _ . Always.” Dick answered, kissing the crown of Slade’s head, fingers still tangled in his hair. 

 

*

 

Slade settled the tablet in his hands into his lap, grimacing s pain shot up the leg that  _ should _ have been there. His head was aching from a lack of sleep. He’d woken up every hour or two with pain radiating up his leg in phantom waves, had shifted and been able to get comfortable. Dick had come in three times to check on him.

 

He reached down, got his hands on the wheels of his chair. He wasn’t thrilled to be in it, but Dick had had to run out to the store, pick up the essentials, a few groceries, and hadn’t wanted Slade to be stuck in bed or on the couch the whole time. Slade had bit his tongue over his feeling about it, if only because he knew Dick was thinking of what was best for him. And he was trying  _ so hard _ to not be his stubborn self, for once in his life.

 

He’d been reading up on the news, following international stories that might have once been tip offs to  _ jobs _ . Now it only made his head hurt more and his stomach feel dully sick. And the last thing he wanted was to toss up the light breakfast Dick had made him and Slade was priding himself in keeping down so far. He worked his hands over the wheels, moving across the room to the window. He glanced out, took a peek at the Gotham streets below. It was just starting to rain, and pedestrians were opening their umbrellas, dashing about. Slade propped his elbow on the sill, leaned his chin on it, his hair neatly pulled back. He could still feel Dick’s fingers running through his hair from that morning, the way he’d laughed and kissed the top of Slade’s head. He could have  _ chided _ him for it, and may have on any other day- but for the moment he was just happy to hear Dick laugh. It was familiar. It was beautiful.

 

Slade’s eyes slid from the window, catching the closet door, left ajar. He straightened up, wheeling towards it, planning to close it, maybe head out to the living room to wait for Dick. He paused, grabbing the handle, peeking in as he prepared to push it shut- and pausing.

 

There was an old chest pushed up towards the front. Once painted a gorgeous turquoise, the paint was chipping off the wood now, weathered with age and love. Slade hadn’t seen it pulled out for some time, and couldn’t help but double over, leaving the tablet on the floor, just able to grasp the lid. It was left unhinged, like it had been shut in a hurry, and Slade was able to open it, albeit slowly.

 

Inside were contents he had seen before. Remnants of a past he’d heard stories of. The chest had once belonged to Dick’s mother, and before that  _ her _ mother. She’d packed it full of little treasures when she married his father- and with no daughter to pass it to, had seen it fit to give it to her only child, her son, to enjoy the little memories  _ she _ had bestowed within it.

 

It was missing a few things. The stones she had left behind, Dick had them within his own collection. Slade knew which hunk of amethyst had lived within this chest for many years. But her tarot deck was still in there, wrapped in a beautifully patterned silken cloth. Slade had seen it taken out, had seen Dick shuffle the cards with reverence. They were old and well worn and beautiful.

 

Slade reached into the trunk, his fingers brushing over a fine, gauzy fabric. Carefully he grasped it in his hands, sitting up properly and pulling it with him. It spilled over the blanket tucked around his lap, as he turned it in the light.

 

His mother’s veil. It was old, faded from white to a dusty eggshell, but still fine, without tears or runs. It was simple, no embellishments along the top where it had hooked into her hair once.

 

A drastic contradiction to what Slade knew of the woman who had owned it, from Dick. And of the son she had left behind, like a gift for the world.

 

Slade lifted it to his face, pressed into the veil and inhaled. It smelled of dust and herbs and the last bout of incense Dick had burned when it was out. Slade could remember the night, so many lifetimes ago, when the apartment was new. Dick, drunk on wine and smiling at everything, showing him the trunk’s entirety, pausing to just touch the veil as he described his mother in every detail he could remember. Slade had listened, studied Dick’s eyes, the turns and curves of his mouth with each word.

 

And then Dick had put it on and Slade had laughed with him, had hauled him up from their living room which was still not fully unpacked, had carried him to their bed which they’d barely made. He’d thrown him down and he’d made love to him in a place they were going to call  _ home _ , thinking Dick was the single most beautiful thing this world had to give him.

 

Very carefully Slade folded the veil up, tucked it back into the chest. He closed it, didn’t feel right looking through its contents without Dick there. He picked the tablet back up, winced from all the movement as the phantom pains shot up through his thigh. Forcing himself to breathe, he set the tablet on his lap, properly shut the closet door, before heading for the door. He was wheeling out into the living room when the apartment door opened, and he watched as Dick hurried in, shutting the door and shaking the water from his hair as he tried to hold onto all the bags clutched in each hand.

 

“Raining pretty hard,” he said, making a beeline for the kitchen. Slade listened as the bags spilled onto the table, as Dick shed his jacket, probably left it over the back of a chair like he was prone to do. Didn’t matter how many times Slade tried to get him to keep a little order. He watched Dick walk back out, head over to him and lean over, press a chilled kiss to his cheek. It was refreshing. He smelled like rainwater. “How are you?”

 

Slade grunted. His head still ached and his leg was throbbing where it no longer existed. “I kept breakfast down,” he offered, and Dick smiled at that, got his cold hands on Slade’s face, cupped his cheeks, one thumb bumping the strap to his eyepatch.

 

“Good. See, little steps. How’s the pain?”

 

Another grunt. “Fucking miserable.” But not enough to make him feel like absolute death. Just like he had a foot in the grave.

 

Dick frowned, looking concerned.

 

“My head is pounding. But I don’t think I could sleep.” Slade sighed, closing his eye, letting himself get lost in Dick’s cool fingertips. “My leg hurts and it’s not fucking  _ there _ .”

 

That sentence made everything flare up, throb in agony, and he gritted his teeth.

 

“And the idea of morphine makes me want to hurl,” he admitted. Because it was true. He was sick of being sluggish and barely aware. Sick of feeling like he had no control of his body, like his mind was foggy and floating leagues above his body.

 

Dick nodded, clicking his tongue, before smiling a little bit. “I might have something,” he said, “to help you relax a little. Maybe even get a little more sleep.”

 

Sleep sounded like  _ heaven _ to Slade in that moment.

 

Dick straightened up, took the tablet and tossed it onto the couch, before walking around Slade, grabbing the handles to the wheelchair and turning it, making a line back to the bedroom. He settled it by the bed, and Slade frowned but accepted Dick’s help getting from the chair to the bed. Dick had pulled the covers back- not their usual bedding, and Slade tried not to focus on that, tried not to think about the fact that he was still fucked up enough that he could ruin it, were it there.

 

He was shifting about in the too many pillows Dick kept, as Dick walked across the room, pulling open a drawer at his desk. Slade watched him rummage around, before he was coming back, hopping up on the bed and sitting cross legged as he popped open the small jar he kept stashed there.

 

“You’re going to get me high?” Slade asked, watched as Dick popped a few buds into his grinder.

 

“Yes,” he said, very matter-of-factly. “It will relax you, help dull the pain. Maybe you’ll get a little sleep.”

 

Slade snorted. For the moment he could ignore the ache behind his skull and within what was left of his leg, if only because he was  _ bemused _ by his boyfriend. “How would Dr. Thompkins feel about  _ this _ treatment?”

 

“She’d probably bring over a bigger bowl,” Dick teased, glancing in the grinder before capping it again. The smell was strong, had Slade crinkling his nose. He wasn’t overly  _ fond _ of it, but he was fairly used to it. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d smoked with Dick. “You do know she’s the one that gave Tim his  _ legal _ prescription for this, right? And the one that told off  _ Batman _ when he dropped around her that he caught me smoking when I was younger.”

 

Slade shook his head, as Dick packed the bowl. He held it out, offering up a lighter, but Slade held his hand up, pushed it back towards Dick. “You first.”

 

Dick quirked up a brow, had that look like he hadn’t even planned to take a single hit. But then he smiled, shrugged a shoulder, and wrapped his lips around the beautiful blue and green glass, flicking the lighter and holding it over the pot, inhaling slowly. When he pulled away he held it in his lungs for a few seconds, before tipping his head back, slowly exhaling the smoke up towards the ceiling.

 

Slade could  _ silently _ admit, he had a thing for Dick when he smoked. 

 

Dick casually straightened up, flashing another smile and holding the bowl out to Slade again. He was too pretty in that moment, and Slade… he wanted to kiss him, kiss him  _ properly _ , for the first time since he’d come home. And yet he felt like he  _ couldn’t _ …

 

He took the bowl and the lighter, set it to his lips, and took a hit before his mind could continue down that train. His lungs burned with how long he held it, but the exhale was a sweet relief.

 

“Take another one,” Dick said, getting up on his knees, shuffling closer. One hand moved to Slade’s back, rubbed his spine as he bent his head, kissed his shoulder. Slade  _ listened _ , taking a second hit. “Deeper,” Dick mumbled, and Slade almost choked, because his voice sounded like when they would lay in bed, when Dick was high and the sex was lazy, when he wanted Slade inside his bones and veins. “Hold it,” Dick whispered now, when Slade pulled the bowl away. “Good,  _ good _ … okay.” Slade exhaled, the smoke pluming out, like he was some fantastical dragon set to capture this knight, horde him for his own.

 

Slade passed the bowl back to Dick, watched from the corner of his good eye as he took another hit. He was feeling… calmer, already. He still ached but he was forgetting about it, was feeling his muscles relaxing around him.

 

“How are you feeling?” Dick asked, and Slade, he gave a little  _ smile _ .

 

“Alright,” he admitted. Dick grinned.

 

“See? Told you. Here- one more.” Slade took the bowl, inhaling as he flicked the lighter. Dick worked to fluff the pillows behind him, before his fingers were brushing back Slade’s hair as he exhaled. Slade’s eye fluttered shut for a moment, and Dick took the bowl and lighter, set everything onto his nightstand, as Slade eased back into the pillows. He was already feeling more relaxed than he had in quite some time- and when Dick stretched out on top of the blanket, tossed an arm over his waist and snuggled into his shoulder, it was like he had stepped into heaven.

 

“Close your eyes,” Dick mumbled, “it’ll feel good.”

 

“You’ll stay right here?” Slade hadn’t meant to ask it, but the words tumbled out and he realized how badly he wanted Dick to stay. That they hadn’t slept in the same bed since he’d come home- that he  _ missed _ him terribly.

 

Dick just smiled, pressed a lingering kiss to his shoulder. “Of course baby.”

 

*

 

Slade tipped his head back, groaning. His hands were fisted in the flesh of Dick’s hips, guiding him as he rode him quickly, desperate jerks of his hips. His face was flushed, but Slade could only see glimpses of the color, most of it obscured by the veil he was wearing.

 

“ _ Baby _ ,” Dick whined, in that voice that meant he was so close, could tumble over the edge and come all over Slade’s abs in any second. Slade gripped him tighter, leaned in and pressed his face into the veil, into Dick’s neck. He could smell incense and the oils Dick used on his skin, along with the scent of dust infused into the veil. And it was  _ perfect _ , had him digging his heels into the bed to get leverage, to drive deeper into Dick, got him screaming, tossing his head back and clenching his whole body up around Slade-

 

Slade’s eye jerked open, as his lips parted. A strangled groan escaped him as he stared up at the ceiling, for a moment completely unaware of where he was, what was happening.

 

He took a deep breath, realized it was a  _ dream _ , and squeezed his eye shut. As he did so he felt his cock twitch in his boxer briefs, and Slade realized he was fucking  _ hard _ . Hard for the first time since he’d come home, since-

 

“Mmm, Slade?” Dick tightened his arm around him, snuggled into his chest. Slade said nothing, kept his eyes closed, trying to breathe evenly. Just a dream and-

 

And Dick had been so  _ gorgeous _ like he always was.

 

Slade let out another groan, wasn’t sure if the pot was still leaving him feeling too relaxed to hold it in, but he felt Dick pushing closer, his hand rubbing his side. “Do you hurt? Do you need something?”

 

“No… had a dream s’all.” Slade finally opened his eye, turned, managed to kiss Dick’s hair. “Don’t worry about it.” Dick sighed, his arm dropping to Slade’s lap- and then he was stiffening, slightly, lifting his head and looking at Slade with wider, blue eyes.

 

“You’re-” he cut off, and gods be damned, Dick  _ smiled _ . Slade felt his heart thud against his chest, and he swore he was over that phase of his life a  _ long _ time ago- but then this boy fell into his lap, and it was like he was perpetually trying to talk himself out of a school age crush, along with all the wild heartbeats and horrible ideas that came along with it. He felt Dick’s hand grip the thigh of his good leg, thumb rubbing little circles into it. “Can I… touch you?”

 

Slade stared at Dick, swore he had to be hearing things. How could he- how could Dick want him  _ now _ . With the mess he had been, everything he’d had to deal with…

 

But Dick’s hand was sliding up his thigh, skimming between his legs against the heavy shape of his cock. Slade tipped his head back, and Dick pushed right up against him, squeezed. “ _ Can I please _ ?” He sounded desperate, and Slade had never known how to say  _ no _ to that voice, had never wanted to, couldn’t dream of it in his life-

 

He could only nod. He dropped his head into the pillows, closed his eye as Dick rubbed him through his underwear. His fingers curled in the bedsheets, little noises that were  _ undignified _ escaping him. Dick giggled, before he was peeling the waistband of his underwear down, settling it at the base of his cock and wrapping his hand around the thick shaft. Dick moaned over how  _ hot _ his skin was, stroked his hand up slowly, took the time to tease his thumb over Slade’s cockhead.

 

“Missed you,” Dick mumbled, pressing his face into Slade’s neck. “God Slade.” His mouth dragged up as his fist dragged down, and then his lips were on Slade’s jaw, pushing at the stubble.

 

Slade turned, let Dick kiss him. Let his warm mouth give Slade an escape, a reason to forget the world and how to breathe, to forget everything. Dick’s tongue slid along his lips, and Slade reached over his body, grasped at Dick’s bicep, squeezed the muscle there. He hadn’t been kissed like this- it was making him dizzy, he was forgetting to breathe. He groaned, and Dick squeezed his cock again, smiling like he was blissed out into the kiss, and Slade tried to buck up, to meet his movement-

 

But he didn’t get that steady feeling he used to. Only one heel to dig into the bed, and the movement shot pain up his injured thigh, had him breaking the kiss, sucking in a breath until his lungs hurt. And then he was  _ there _ , he was in that moment, he wasn’t lost in the shell of his dream, the hold of Dick with that veil fading.

 

He was broken and in their bed and  _ how could anyone like Dick Grayson want to touch him _ ? He was perfect and Slade was broken now-

 

It made his stomach cramp up, made him forget the smell of incense and the lingering drugs in the air. Instead it was mud and he was going to fall right back into that hell, that tent, that  _ death trap _ .

 

He wrapped his hand around Dick’s wrist, held so tight Dick yelped. But it forced him to let go, and Slade tossed his hand away. “Stop,” he said, and Dick straightened up, knelt there looking at Slade confused.

 

“What-”

 

“Don’t,” Slade said, shaking his head. Dick reached out, hand moving for his shoulder, but Slade slapped it away. The sound of the contact echoed in the room, and Dick jerked back, eyes narrowing. “ _ Don’t touch me _ !” Dick stayed there, kept his distance, and Slade tried to shift away, wincing because his fucking leg  _ hurt _ and god  _ when would it stop _ ?

 

After a moment Dick turned, quickly climbing off the bed. “My bowl’s on the nightstand,” he said, as he walked around the bed, not looking at Slade. “Take another few hits and go back to sleep. You need it.”

 

He never lifted his head as he opened their bedroom door, hurried out. Slade listened to Dick shuffling about, and then the quick tug of the apartment door opening- and the way it  _ slammed _ shut. He reached up, squeezed the bridge of his nose, cursing himself out because he hadn’t  _ meant _ for this.

 

Dick had been touching him. He’d slept in the same bed as him, even if only for what, an hour? He’d kissed him, he’d  _ wanted him _ , and Slade hadn’t been able to keep his damn head from focusing on what had happened, from drifting back.

 

“Fucking idiot,” he growled, moving his hand to his hair, tugging at it until his scalp burned. As if to  _ spite _ him, his cock was still hard, was resting against his belly, distracting him. Grunting in frustration, Slade’s other hand reached down, wrapped around it, jerked up quickly. He’d been so close already, so worked up by the dream, from such a prolonged time without Dick’s touch, and his belly was going tight already.

 

His hand slid from his hair to cover his eyes, fingers digging into his temple as he felt himself shake. He hiccuped a breath, told himself it was the impending orgasm, even as he felt the tears rolling down his face.

 

He didn’t feel  _ good _ , when he came. He felt like he was getting a job done, and nothing more. Barely registered the way it could have filled his body with that warm, buzzing feeling. Instead he was simply focusing on Dick, on his  _ absence _ \- on the fact that he couldn’t stop himself to just tell Dick he needed a second to breathe, that he  _ wasn’t okay _ .

 

He’d simply chased him away. Exactly what he was so terrified of doing.

 

*

 

Eventually, Slade’s consciousness filtered away from him and he fell asleep, boxers still hanging open around his thighs. Sleep did not take him anywhere pleasant, not even in unconsciousness could he find a respite from the hell he had been living in, had been forcing Dick to inhabit with him. 

In his dreams, he was once again back in the muddy tent, rotting and stinking and  _ decaying  _ and alone. Except this time, he was not alone. 

Slade slowly turned his head to look at the bed next to him, the lump of a misshapen body splayed out next to him half hidden beneath a sheet that was light blue at one point in its long life, but was now stained a dull gray. The body beneath it twitched as Slade stared, keeping his good eye trained on the bed. The sheet began to run red, a huge bloody smear blossoming along it. Slade felt his stomach seize up at the realization that whoever was beneath the sheet was starting to bleed out. Slade tried to call out, but his voice got trapped somewhere between his throat and his teeth. He watched as the body convulsed again and a hand fell limply from the sheet. 

A hand obscured by a glove. A black glove with two blue accented fingers. 

Slade’s heart immediately hammered into his throat, strangling another noise he tried to make. 

The sheet followed the hand and fell to the floor in one languid flourish, leaving the body completely exposed. Reluctantly, Slade’s eye traveled up the arm that was attached to the hand only to find his worst fears realized next to him.

Dick was lying in the bed, eyes glassy and open and staring at Slade. Blood was flowing from his chest like a morbid waterfall, coating every surface of the tent they were in. Dick’s blood dripped from even the ceilings, gathered in pools beneath the beds, covered all of the nurse’s hands. Dick’s chest was an empty open chasm, the skin peeled back and ribs broken away at harsh angles. Slade could tell his heart was gone even from where he was still laying, frozen and incapacitated. 

He must have gotten caught up in whatever this was when he was trying to rescue Slade. Another silent scream tried to worm its way up his throat.  _ This was his fault.  _

Slade finally wrenched his stare away from the body of his dead boyfriend and looked down at his own body. A scream finally bubbled forth when he saw Dick’s still beating and bleeding heart grasped in one of his own fists. 

*

Slade awoke, sweating and screaming and alone. He looked around the room before him for a few full moments before he realized where he was, realized that he was safe. It was getting exhausting waking up like this, but Slade barely had time to dwell on the thought as nausea rippled through his insides. 

He pressed a hand flat against the top of his stomach and reached the other to the table next to the bed, where Dick had sagely placed a large mixing bowl. Slade clutched it close and moaned, a weary sound. He heard his stomach gurgle and felt its meager contents roiling. His breath was coming in quick hard pants and he couldn’t control them no matter what he did. He felt his mouth begin to fill with sour saliva, pooling beneath his tongue and stringing up to the roof of his mouth. He spit into the bowl, thick and heavy wisps of drool sticking on his chin and getting caught in the beard that had not been shaved since he returned home. 

The nausea burned his esophagus and he whimpered again to himself. He wished he had not chased Dick away. Tears began to gather at the corners of his eyes and he heaved, nothing coming up but a thin stream of stomach acid. It made contact with the bowl and Slade saw red, remembering his dream. His head swam and Dick  _ was  _ safe, right? He was just out of the house, not lying somewhere dead with an empty chest. 

Slade suddenly wasn’t sure anymore. He felt himself beginning to separate from the world around him. He knew nothing outside of his own body in shambles and the bowl he was trying to empty himself into. Shoulders up to his ears, he heaved again. This time he brought nothing up but a sick sounding belch. He dug his fingers into his stomach as he thought of the heart he had been holding in his hand, just moments before. It had felt so realistic, soft and supple and wet with blood. 

The images flashing in front of him, coupled with the sharp memory of the smell of rot are what did him in. Finally, he was bowing over the bowl, retching horribly and bringing up mouthful after mouthful of burning undigested food. It started forcefully, each surge of vomit hitting the bottom of the bowl so harshly it splashed up the sides onto Slade’s fingertips. Even as it slowed, drool was still stringing in his beard, chunks of food getting caught in the hairs. The four bites of toast he was able to eat earlier today seemed to last forever, a last aborted heave weakly coming up his throat, missing the bowl entirely and dribbling through his beard, down his neck. 

He was sweating and shaking now, and sobs were coming in between his harsh breaths. He was sure his stomach was empty now, but the dry heaves would not stop. He couldn’t catch his breath enough to calm himself and he was stuck in a whirlpool of images flashing before him. He stared into his own vomit to try to ground himself, try to keep himself real and located in this moment, but he couldn’t. He was flying, anxiety wrapping its hooks into his wrists and tugging, pulling him until he was so spread out he was sure his joints would crack, bones separating from sinew. Slade was still dry heaving over the bowl, feeling his throat crack and blood fill his mouth. 

He needed to stop. He knew he needed to calm down or he was going to send himself into some kind of shock, if he wasn’t already there. He spat blood into the mess he had already made, pink tinged saliva to mingle with the discolored brown. He couldn’t breathe and everything was spinning. He knew he was hyperventilating but he didn’t know what to do to stop it. Everything was fuzzy and there was static in his ears, punctuated by the screams of the dying that he had become so accustomed to. He needed to hear something, anything else. 

He needed Dick. 

Blindly, and without letting go of the bowl, Slade reached again to the bedside table to grasp for his phone that he had set there. His fingers trembled and he nearly dropped it into the mess in his lap. Two keystrokes were all he needed, one to unlock the phone and the other to dial Dick’s number. 

His stomach contracted again as the phone rang and he heaved over the bowl again, which was now becoming alarmingly full. A new mouthful of sick joined the rest and the phone still rang. And rang. 

And went to voicemail. 

Slade’s blood turned to ice, sharp edges catching in his chest and neck and he hung up. Static invaded his senses again. Dick was dead. Slade was sure of it. Dick was dead and he was going to be left here, incomplete and rotting in the bed that they once so happily shared. 

Slade sobbed, a noise that was rough and broken. He rocked back and forth, trying to soothe himself, trying to stop the keening that was ripping up from his chest, tearing gashes along the way. 

Slade’s phone rang, vibrating against the bit of his leg that was left and he yelped, turning so quickly to answer that he upended the bowl onto the floor. Cursing, he looked at the caller id and saw Dick’s name flash on the screen. Fear seized him. What if it was the police department, saying they had found his body, that Slade needed to come identify it, that this was the end of everything. 

Slade slid the call icon over and held the phone up to his ear, still unable to stop the short sobs that were coming forth, spilling from his lips much like the vomit. 

“Slade?” Dick’s voice was concerned, tinny and small, but still concerned. Slade’s insides were seized with relief, staccato bursts of breath still puffing into the phone. “Slade! What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

“Are you okay?” Slade’s voice was hoarse and barely there. It was a miracle Dick had heard it at all.

“Am I-? Yes, yes baby, I’m fine.” 

“You’re sure? You swear?” Slade had never felt more like a child, eyes and throat stinging, still trying to chase away the images the dream had left behind. 

“Yes, baby. I’m okay. What’s happening? What’s wrong?” 

Even though his relief was palpable, Slade still couldn’t get a handle on his breathing. He wanted to answer Dick, wanted to tell him what was wrong, wanted to apologize again for acting the way that he had been, but he couldn’t. His voice wouldn’t form anything except guttural sobs.  _ “Dick.”  _

“Slade, sweetheart,  _ draga,  _ you’re okay.” 

“No.” That was all Slade could answer back, his breaths still coming ragged and creating static in the phone. 

“Yes you are. I’m on my way home, okay? I’ll be there soon.” 

“Don’t go!” Slade whimpered, thinking that Dick was planning to hang up on him. 

“I’m not going anywhere,  _ iubire.  _ Just take a breath for me, alright? I’m coming home.” 

Slade tried, gasping in a breath as Dick hushed him over the phone. He heard an engine start and a door slam beneath the stream of encouragements Dick was whispering to him. “Just keep breathing, baby. You’re safe and I’ll be there soon. Just a few minutes, but I really need you to breathe with me.” 

Dick counted to ten and coaxed Slade to breathe in and out with him in time. Slade responded, somehow able to listen to Dick’s commands and calm down enough to string together a full sentence. 

“I’m sorry. I got sick. I’m a mess.” 

“Don’t be. We’ll get you cleaned up and it’ll all be okay. Deep breaths.” 

Slade was silent for a moment, focusing on not getting lost in his breathing again. “I’m sorry for doing this to you.” Slade’s voice was choked and Dick tried to interrupt him, but he kept talking. “I’m sorry I’m pushing you away, and putting all this fucking bullshit on your plate. I’m sorry I’m making you take care of me, and I’m fucking sorry I’m breaking your heart.”

“You’re not breaking-”

“Don’t lie to me.” Slade whispered. “How can I not be? I’m only half a man now.” 

Dick was silent for a few beats. Slade could hear the wipers beating against the windshield. “You’re not half a man, Slade.” 

“Of course I am.” Slade snapped back. “I’m nothing now. Everything I ever was is gone. Just like my fucking leg.” 

Again, Dick fell silent. “Would you say that to Barbara? That she’s half a woman?” 

“No, I - no, that’s completely different-” 

“How is it different?” 

“Her legs are still there. She’s-”

“To Roy then? To Vic?” 

It was Slade’s turn to be silent now. 

“You’re not half a man, Slade. You’re a whole man who needs to do some healing. You’re a whole man, and I love every bit of you.”

Slade sobbed into the phone again, tears running down his face unchecked and untethered. “Thank you.” he whispered. 

“I’m parking,  _ draga.  _ I’ll be up in just a second.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dick took the stairs two at a time, fumbling to get the apartment key in the damn lock. He cursed, paused to take a deep breath, before trying again, twisting the knob and letting himself in. He shut it, flipped the lock, and kicked his shoes off, almost tripping over them as he hurried through the apartment. He shoved the bedroom door open, panting slightly from the run up, eyes scanning the room.

 

He was relieved to find Slade in bed. He  _ wasn’t _ relieved to see how pale he was, that some of his hair was sticking to his forehead. He didn’t miss the upturned bowl, the  _ mess _ that was becoming a usual routine in his day.

 

Nor did he miss the frantic look in Slade’s eye.

 

Dick hurried across the room, walked around the bed and climbed up, reaching up to cup Slade’s face, brush his hair back off his forehead. “Baby, what happened?”

 

Slade was silent, but his eye was screaming. Like he wanted to open up and didn’t know  _ how _ , like he was trapped inside his own head. Dick sighed, sliding his arms around Slade’s neck and simply settling close.

 

“I’m here,” he offered, knowing it was all he could give him. “It’s okay.”

 

God Dick  _ hoped _ it was.

 

He convinced Slade to take a sedative, though it took some  _ begging _ on his part. But it was enough to mellow him, so Dick could clean him up, clean up the floor as he began to drift. Dick tried to stay as quiet as he could, tossing away paper towels when he was done and cleaning out the bowl, before replacing it by the bed, in case Slade’s stomach acted up again when he woke up.

 

Then he simply sagged down onto the couch. He felt boneless, weighted down by thousands of endless iron claws. He was  _ tried _ and heavy, and found himself staring blindly at the wall. Minutes ticked and he didn’t even realize it, forgot he was even breathing until his breath hitched in his throat. He tried to swallow but his throat ached, and he reached up, rubbed his hand over it, up his jaw.

 

His face was wet. Dick blinked, forced himself to come back, realized he was  _ crying _ . Streaks of tears down his cheeks, over his jaw, dripping onto his tshirt. He tried to breathe but his chest hurt, the weights settling there, like someone had a vice like grip on his lungs. He leaned back into the couch, pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and  _ forced _ darkness upon himself.

 

Breathe, like he told Slade to, when he panicked. Breathe in,  _ hold it, hold it, hold it _ \- exhale, long and slow. Repeat.  _ Repeat _ .

 

Dick hiccuped, groaned, dug his teeth into his lip as he trembled. He hadn’t let himself break this whole damn time, hadn’t  _ stopped _ in order to. And somehow,  _ now _ it was all crashing down on him.

 

The man he loved was withering away, in front of him. Was losing his  _ mind _ and his sense of self, and Dick- he just didn’t know what to  _ do _ . He was tired, bone-dead tired because he didn’t sleep. He swore he was in a constant half sleeping state all night, in case Slade needed anything. And when he could try to fully rest, his mind wouldn’t  _ stop _ .

 

Hell, the best sleep he’d gotten was when he’s dozed next to Slade again, for just that hour. And yet here he was, sobbing…

 

Dick lurched forward, leaning until his head was between his knees, hands sinking into his hair. He tugged, let his scalp burn and reveled in it, focused on it. Let it ground him as his tears dropped onto the floor now.

 

He just  _ missed _ Slade. He missed him and he wanted him back and he  _ hated _ himself for feeling tired, for being angry enough to leave earlier,  _ hated _ that he wasn’t a saint. Hated that he felt like he couldn’t be what Slade needed- and hated that he was selfish enough to think of himself…

 

He choked, trembled again, before he gritted his teeth, forced himself to swallow down a breath. He couldn’t do this, there wasn’t  _ time _ for him to be broken now. There wasn’t time…

 

Dick sat back up, wiping at his face with one wrist as he pulled his phone from his pocket, making sure he hadn’t missed anything. There was a missed call,  _ Babs _ sitting in his call log, and he frowned. He took a deep breath to steady himself, before clicking on her name and holding the phone up, listening to it ring.

 

He thought it was going to go to voicemail, but just before it did the line picked up and, “Hey there wonder boy.”

 

Dick swallowed. “Hey,” he managed, hoping his voice sounded steady.

 

“Haven’t heard from you in a while. Things okay? Not like you to be silent.”

 

Dick fisted his free hand, rested it on his thigh. At least she was  _ alright _ . He’d worried she wasn’t when he saw her name- but it was a trivial thought. Babs was better put together than  _ him _ , he was sure. “Yeah. Fine. Just busy.”

 

He could  _ hear _ her frowning when she said, “That’s not convincing. You sound like shit Dick. What’s going on?” Dick didn’t say anything for a long moment, staring at the wall across from him again. And then her voice softened. “Dick, listen… I’m here for you. You know that. Talk to me.”

 

She didn’t say  _ please _ and he knew she wouldn’t. She didn’t need to, not with him. He’d always have a soft spot in his chest for Barbara, a little coil of affection no one could take away. Not the same as it had once been, and not the same as he had for Slade, but something all its own.

 

“Something’s happened…” he admitted, his voice sounding so small. “Babs, it’s Slade. He’s not okay…  _ I’m _ not okay. And I don’t… I don’t know how to do this anymore. How to ever do it.”

 

He tried to choke it out, recount all of it. Finding him nearly dying, the agony of thinking for a moment he’d truly  _ lost _ him. And then the crashing realization that it was on his shoulders to care for him, to help him through this. And how he felt he was utterly  _ failing _ . Failing him, failing them- and losing him.

 

When he was done, Dick was crying again. Full on sobs that wracked him, left him covering his eyes with his free hand as he squeezed them shut. “I love him,” he managed, though the words came out broken. “I love him and I’m going to  _ lose _ him because I can’t be the man he needs right now.”

 

There was a moment of silence, before he heard Barbara breathe in deeply. “Dick,” she said, “I need you to listen to me, okay? You’re doing everything you can. You’re not inhuman, as much as you like to believe you are. But… you can’t do this  _ alone _ . God, does anyone know?”

 

“Dr. Tompkins. She patched him up. He heals fast enough that he’s doing well enough on his own now… but he’s just not…”

 

“He’s mentally hurt, Dick. God, he’s got PTSD.” Dick choked, felt like he was going to swallow his tongue. “I know you think you’re what he needs, and to an extent you are, you really are… but you need help. And he needs real help. At least, as much as we can get him.”

 

“I just don’t know what to do, Babs.”

 

“I want you to pull yourself together,” she said, sounding  _ stern _ . He could see her face in his mind, if he closed his eyes. Steady green eyes, mouth set in that line. “I need you to endure for one more night. And in the morning, I’m coming over. You’re not doing this alone, boy wonder. Not now.”

 

Dick wanted to protest, wanted to tell her  _ no _ , he had a responsibility to take care of Slade, to do this without dragging anyone else in. That  _ Slade _ wouldn’t want anyone else involved. But in the end he could only give another sob, because in that moment, Barbara sounded like she was giving him salvation.

 

*

 

Slade peered out the window, settled in his wheelchair. Late morning sun and no rain, for once, left the pedestrians below moving happily. He felt detached watching through his window, but the tablet brought nothing but anger now, left him feeling so removed from the life he had led.

 

He didn’t register when he heard a knock at the door. Dick wasn’t in the bedroom, and Slade didn’t blame him. He hadn’t said much at all that day, and Slade couldn’t bring himself to try and get Dick to talk. He knew it was his fault anyway, that it felt like a ravine was opening up between them, a maw suckiNg down the light that had once thrived between them.

 

So when the bedroom door gently pushed open, he didn’t look over. If it was Dick, he probably needed something. Or he’d ask his question and leave Slade be, because Slade couldn’t tell how to bring him in. He could admit he was pushing Dick away but he couldn’t  _ stop _ .

 

The sound of wheels on the floor had him turning though, good eye sliding from the window and pausing on Barbara, sitting in the middle of his bedroom. Barbara with her ponytail and glasses and this charming and yet somehow  _ stern _ look on her face.

 

“What is she doing here?” Slade asked, looking past her, at Dick. Dick tightened his hold on the door handle, his knuckles going white.

 

“I’m here because I need to be,” Barbara said. She glanced back, gave Dick the sort of soft, affectionate smile that might have made Slade possessive, in the beginning of this. When Dick was still wild, could have been his one night and then  _ not _ the next. “Dick, I want you to go take a walk. Get some fresh air. Get something to eat. If I need you,” she held up her phone from her lap, “I’ll call you. Okay?”

 

Dick nodded, turned his eyes back to Slade again. And Slade  _ hated _ what he saw there, all these minute cracks radiating through those gorgeous irises. Sadness swimming in this pool of endless  _ emptiness _ . Exhaustion.

 

Things his lover was not.

 

Dick pulled the door shut, left Slade alone with Barbara. He turned his gaze back to her, as she folded her hands in her lap, looked too put together, too in control. “Dick told me what happened. He told me where he found you- about your leg.”

 

Slade gritted his teeth. His hands reached down, fisted in the thin blanket draped over his lap. Because he couldn’t  _ bare _ to look down and see himself as he was now. “Did he?” he managed, and he sounded bitter, he knew. “Must be nice, then. A reason to tell him to get out, right?”

 

Barbara frowned then, hard enough to cause a crease between her brows. She reached for her wheels, slowly moving closer. “Slade,” she said, getting close enough that she could lean forward, reach out and touch his chair. “You may not have ever been my first choice for Dick. You may not be a good man every day of your life- but you’re who Dick chose. You’re who he fell in love with. As his  _ friend _ , I respect that.” She held his stare. “Don’t dredge up our past. It’s over, and neither of us want to go back to it.”

 

Slade nodded, gave her that- because there was something about Barbara that made you want to believe everything she said. And because he knew in his rational heart, she was right.

 

He simply didn’t  _ feel _ rational.

 

“You need help,” Barbara said. “You’re living through trauma.”

 

“Done that before,” Slade mumbled, and Barbara kept her frown.

 

“You  _ have _ , but this is different. You’re changed because of it. Your leg? It’s not growing back. The wound might have healed quickly but you’re not  _ that _ superhuman.” Slade turned his gaze away, looked back outside, wanted to lash out that he didn’t need a reminder of  _ that _ . “And if you don’t let me help you, you’re going to lose yourself. And Dick.”

 

Slade closed his eyes, forced himself to inhale slowly. “I know,” he admitted, and it hurt to say it, but god it was true.

 

He couldn’t see Barbara’s face soften. “And that’s a good first step,” she admitted. “You know what’s happening. But you have to decide, are you going to do something about it?”

 

Slade inhaled, very slowly. And he thought about the wretched days that had passed since he’d come home. He couldn’t even count them, didn’t know the damn day without looking. But he couldn’t live like this, couldn’t make Dick live like this- couldn’t  _ lose _ what he’d had before.

 

“Yes,” he said, opening his eye and turning back to Barbara. She offered him a smile.

 

“Good. So, can we talk?”

 

*

 

“I know it’s ugly,” Barbara said, after she had coaxed Slade out of the bedroom. She’d helped herself to a bottle of water, had insisted Slade at least hold onto one, giving him this lecturing look that his  _ health  _ required he stay hydrated. “But you have to look at why this is hurting you, Slade. You need to look at what you feel like you’re losing, so we can help you to not.”

 

Slade rolled the water bottle between his hands. The living room felt too bright, the whole apartment empty without Dick there. But maybe it was better that he not be there, maybe Slade could admit to things without the fear of his boyfriend hearing it.

 

His pride would always be the death of him.

 

“Let’s start with how you feel,” Barbara said, “in the chair.”

 

Slade gritted his teeth. “Awful.” He kept his stare on his large hands, on the condensation the bottle was spreading over his palms. “I’m not an  _ invalid _ .” He glanced up, and felt  _ bad _ saying it. Because that wasn’t how he looked at Barbara. “I’m sorry,” he added. “That’s not how I look at you.”

 

“Then what’s the difference?” She straightened up, yet it wasn’t intimidating for once. “Between you and I? Why are you looking at us differently?”

 

Slade bit his tongue. He  _ thought _ on it. And he didn’t want to, but he was committed, and Barbara's stare could drag words out of even the strongest willed men and women alike. “Because I can’t be in a chair and do what I do.”

 

“You mean kill people.” There was the faintest line of bitterness to her voice, but Slade expected it. “Because let me tell you, you  _ can _ . I don’t need anyone to protect me. If I didn’t have moral codes, I would’ve racked up quite the body count.”

 

She smiled.  _ He smiled _ . It was hard to not. Barbara’s smile was pretty, brought the freckles all over her cheeks closer to her eyes.

 

“I don’t want to stop,” Slade gave up. “But there isn’t much choice if I’m here. I can’t be the man I was… the one Dick…” he grunted, didn’t finish the statement.

 

“The man Dick fell for?” Slade gave a curt nod. “Okay, we’re getting somewhere. So you look at yourself differently because you can’t do what you want, while I still can? And that you can’t be who Dick wants, but you think I still am?”

 

“Not exactly.”

 

“Close enough, though, right?” Slade nodded. Barbara twisted the top of her water bottle, leaned forward and set it on the floor. “Why can’t you be the man Dick wants like you are now?”

 

Slade barked out a laugh. “How can I fuck him against a wall when I can’t  _ stand _ ?”

 

“So, it’s sex?” Slade shook his head. Because  _ no _ , it wasn’t just that. “So what is it?”

 

It was  _ everything _ . It was the freedom he had to follow Dick around the night skylines. The joy of lifting him up and carrying him through their apartment. The sweet feeling of pinning him down, against the bed or the wall. It was feeling like Dick looked at him and simply melted, fell over and over again…

 

It was self confidence.

 

“What if he’s not…” Slade sighed. It wasn’t easy, opening up. Not to someone who wasn’t even a real  _ fan _ , but what choice did he have? He could see what he was doing, burying himself in a damn grave while he was still breathing. “What if he doesn’t want me now?”

 

Barbara was quiet for a moment. Silently, she leaned forward, reached out her hand. Slade looked at it, before he wiped one of his on his blanket, reached out and accepted it. Warm, soft, it was smaller than his, and yet it was comforting. “I can assure you,” she said, “nothing in this world could make Dick Grayson now want you. I mean in his life and in his bed. You’ll have to trust me on this. That boy is  _ smitten _ .” She gave his hand a squeeze. “You two need some intimacy, again.”

 

Slade snorted. He couldn’t bring himself to pull his hand away, though. “Listen. That went real well when we tried.”

 

“Oh?”

 

One word and he  _ knew _ she wanted more. Slade sucked on his tongue, had to take a second to compose himself to admit it. “He got me high to deal with the pain,” he admitted, “We slept. He hasn’t been in bed with me since I came home, and maybe it was having him close… but I dreamt about him. And I woke up and…” he shook his head, pulling his hand back, reaching up to brush his hair back. “You don’t need to hear this.”

 

“Hate to say it, but I think I do. As much as I don’t need details on you two getting down and dirty, I think I can take it this time.” She folded her arms, a silent  _ continue _ .

 

Slade sighed. “I woke up hard for the first time since this.” He gestured down towards his legs. “Dick… he  _ tried _ . But I just flashed back to that day, and I lost it. Chased him out.”

 

Barbara nodded. “Slade, listen to me. I told Dick this, but I think  _ you _ need someone to spell it out for you. You’re dealing with PTSD. You suffered a serious trauma and you’re trying to cope. It’s not easy.”

 

Slade snorted. “I’ve been down and dirty my whole life, gingersnap.”

 

“And yet you’ve never reached a point like this. Admit it, Slade. You know it’s happening. And if you can’t admit that, then we won’t get anywhere.”

 

Slade swallowed. He held her words in his chest, and he couldn’t reason  _ around _ them. Because it made sense, and even if he never wanted to admit it-

 

Maybe something had finally broken him.

 

“I can’t be broken,” he mumbled, and Barbara nodded.

 

“We all break. What’s important is how we pick up the pieces, rearrange them, glue them back together. It’s how you remake yourself, Slade- not that you broke in the first place.” Barbara leaned her elbow on the armrest of her chair, her chin against her palm. “You have nightmares.” Slade nodded. “About?”

 

His tongue felt heavy, grossly warm and wet in his mouth. But he kept driving on. “About the incident, at first. Over and over again. But now… I’m helpless but it’s not me being torn apart, it’s  _ Dick _ . And I’m the cause. Broken and somehow still breaking him even more.” He looked down at his hands. “I held his heart in my hands and I woke up panicking, swearing he was dead. I couldn’t reason into reality. That keeps happening.”

 

“It’s going to happen a lot. The goal is to make it happen less and less, slowly. And to get you to a point that you can let us know  _ when _ it’s happening. Imagine if you could  _ tell _ Dick you were slipping, instead of just shoving him away and closing off? Imagine what he could do to ground you.” Slade said nothing, and Barbara tapped the fingers of her other hand on her chair. “We’ll get you there. But I think you two need  _ something _ .” She paused, and when Slade didn’t offer up anything, Barbara continued. “How did you feel when you smoked?”

 

“Better.” Slade licked his lips. “Wanted a real cigarette tho.” He chuckled, actually  _ chuckled _ , and Barbara flashed a far too charming smile.

 

“Didn’t know you smoked.”

 

“Neither does  _ Dick _ . Usually only after a job is done. But lately.” He shrugged.

 

“Well I can’t really condone  _ that _ but you know, I guess a few  _ cancer sticks _ are better than a full fledged meltdown. But hear me out. Get yourself relaxed. Get in your  _ bed _ with Dick. And just. Kiss him.” She reached up, waved her hand. “If it goes anywhere, then it does. Maybe you just kiss him senseless and you just feel good. Maybe you get off. I’m not saying  _ fuck _ but I’m saying just… let yourself be intimate.”

 

Slade shifted, wanted to squirm. Because the notion itself sounded like heaven, but- “How can he even kiss me? Do you know how many times he’s cleaned my  _ vomit _ up because I can’t keep shit down? Do you know the mess I’ve been?”

 

Barbara rolled her eyes. “Like we ever look good twenty four seven. Trust me, he’ll kiss you gladly. Dick’s not thinking about that. He’ll be thinking about you, in that moment.” She straightened up properly. “Do you have a safe word?”

 

“ _ What _ ?”

 

“Exactly what I asked. Do you?” Slade blanched, simply stared.

 

“He… does.”

 

“Well, you get one too. Except this time, it’s for when you feel overwhelmed. In any situation. Maybe it’s while he’s kissing you and you drift- maybe you’re in the middle of watching TV and you just  _ freak _ . But one word is easier to get out than an explanation. And that way Dick knows what’s happening. If he’s not in the dark he can help you.”

 

Slade couldn’t argue, because there wasn’t a reason to. She was  _ right _ . And god, it sounded so good, to just get his hands in Dick’s hair. To kiss him lazily. To just exist with him and maybe let go of all  _ this _ , for a moment of time.

 

“So?”

 

Slade gripped at the blanket in his lap. “I’d like to try,” he admitted, “if only because I  _ miss _ kissing that boy.”

 

Barbara grinned. “This one time, Slade, I’m definitely okay hearing you say that.”

 

*

  
  


After Barbara left, Dick let Slade process their conversation for a while. Eventually, Slade called out to Dick, asking him if he could make them both some tea and then come sit down. Slade had gotten back into bed while he waited for Dick to return. The talk with Barbara had left him with a lot to think about, but it also left him feeling a bit lighter, like a weight was taken off of his chest simply by telling someone else how he was honestly doing. Barbara’s no-nonsense approach had helped him more than he thought it would. He made a mental note to send her some kind of thank you when the door slowly cracked open. 

 

Dick strode into the room, a mug in each hand, and did his best to shut the door with his elbow. He crossed to the bed and handed Slade his mug before sitting on the bed next to him, cross legged. Slade held the mug in his hands, trying to absorb its warmth, and looked at Dick. The man often sat in this way, on the floor surrounded by candles, crystals, and cards, and Slade loved watching him. He wondered if he would benefit from asking Dick for a tarot reading sometime soon. He thought it might give him what he needed, if he had something he was supposed to strive for, if he was working to prove the cards right. 

 

Dick sat silently, sipping his tea with a hand against Slade’s good knee. Slade slid one of his hands down to cover Dick’s, rubbing the back of his hand with his thumb. 

 

“Don’t you want to ask what Barbara and I talked about?” 

 

“Of course I want to. But I think that should stay between the two of you, unless you want to talk to me about it.” 

 

Slade was silent, sipped his tea and watched Dick’s expression. It held nothing but innocence, nothing but pure honesty. 

 

Slade sighed and set his tea on the table beside him. “Dick, I miss you.” 

 

Slade heard Dick’s breath hitch before he answered. “I miss you, too.” 

 

Wordlessly, Slade reached for Dick’s mug as well and placed it on the table next to his own. Dick looked at Slade, wide eyed and unexpectant. Slade closed his eye and leaned closer to Dick, revelling in the scent of his proximity. He smelled of incense smoke and lavender, like always. It almost brought a tear to Slade’s eye. Slade leaned into Dick, resting his head in the crook of his neck. They sat silently for a few moments, Dick rocking them both slightly, a few fingers tangling lightly in Slade’s hair. Slade leaned into the touch as though he were starved. And in a way, maybe he was. 

 

“I want to kiss you so badly.” Slade mumbled, his voice rumbling in his own chest.

 

“Then kiss me,  _ draga.  _ I won’t stop you.” 

 

As soon as the words left Dick’s lips, Slade’s were pressed against them.

 

It was like the first time they had ever kissed all over again. Slowly, chastely, Slade slid his mouth against Dick’s, almost afraid that if he deepened the kiss the illusion would shatter around both of them. Slade could feel a flicker of desire rising up in his stomach, one that was always there but sometimes more dormant than others. It was like a new piece of wood had been thrown on the dying embers inside of him and he reached up to sink a hand into Dick’s hair. Slade’s mouth opened in a sigh at finally having his hands in Dick’s hair agian. It was softer than he remembered it. Every sensation was heightened, gathering in a focal point at their mouths. 

 

Dick slid his tongue into Slade’s open mouth and Slade moaned into the sensation. He felt Dick’s lips turn up at the sides and ran his own tongue against Dick’s. In a flurry of careful movement, Dick had Slade laying back against the headboard again and he was sitting delicately in his lap. Slade reached around Dick’s back to steady him and to feel the broad muscles working beneath his skin. Slade pushed his tongue into Dick’s mouth this time and Dick allowed it, allowed Slade in to admire the curvature of the roof of his mouth, to explore the places his teeth were rooted down, to uncover all the things that he had wanted to say but had been unable to. Slade slid a hand up under the thin cotton shirt Dick was wearing and Dick gasped into his mouth as skin made contact with skin. 

 

Slade deepened the kiss even further, wrestling Dick’s tongue with his own, running his fingers across the scars he knew so well. Dick’s hands were splayed against Slade’s shoulders and Slade never wanted them to leave again. If he could just stay in this moment, with Dick holding him lightly but firmly in place, he was sure he would never go anywhere undesirable ever again. 

 

All at once, Dick broke away and they both gasped for breath. Slade became acutely aware of wetness on his face and opened his eye to look up at Dick. He wasn’t shocked to see that Dick was crying softly, but he was surprised to feel tears collecting in the corners of his own eyes. 

“Dick, baby, what’s wrong little bird?” 

 

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Dick paused for a breath before leaning in again so his lips ghosted against Slade’s as he spoke. “I missed this. I missed  _ you. _ ”

 

Slade closed the gap and licked into Dick’s mouth again for an extended moment before responding. “I’m not going to go anywhere, ever again. I promise you.” 

 

Dick nodded and kissed Slade once more, with such a reverence that it brought more tears from Slade. 

 

“Don’t cry,  _ draga _ . Don’t cry.” 

 

“I’m going to get better, Dick. For you, for  _ us.  _ I’m going to work at it and I’m going to  _ be  _ better.” 

 

Dick nodded, biting his lip slightly. “Don’t force yourself. Especially not for me. You have to heal at your own pace.” 

 

“I know. I still have...a lot of healing to do.” 

 

Dick curled into one of Slade’s broad shoulders, his body still mostly in Slade’s lap. Slade let one of his hands stray back up into Dick’s hair, grounding himself there, before speaking again. “Barbara said I should have a safeword.” 

 

Dick lifted his head slightly to catch Slade’s gaze as he spoke. “Not just for...sex, but for everything. For when I’m not good. It would be easier to just say one thing instead of trying to explain…” 

 

Dick nodded, laying his head back down. “That is a good idea.”

 

“I can’t think of something that doesn’t sound stupid. Do you have any ideas, little bird?” 

 

“I have one.” Dick said, and Slade could hear the smile in his voice. “ Pasăre.” 

 

“Pasăre.” Slade repeated, the word feeling foreign against his tongue, but somehow also tasting of Dick.  “What does that mean?” 

 

“It’s Romani. It means bird.” 

 

Slade nodded, still running his fingers through Dick’s hair. “ Pasăre,” he said again, and Dick smiled into his shoulder.

 

“Did I ever tell you I love when you speak my language?” Slade glanced down, caught the very edge of Dick’s smile from the way he was pressed to his shoulder. “Like you wanna know me.  _ Me _ .”

 

“I always have, little bird,” Slade admitted, feeling his chest going so tight. He felt like it had been lifetimes since he’s held Dick like this, since he’d seen that little smile. He pressed his hand to the back of Dick’s head, cradling him gently. Unwilling to let him go.

 

Unwilling to lose him again.

 

*

 

The day had been one of the most pleasant Slade had since he’d come home. And come that night, as he was twisting, trying to get comfortable in bed, Dick fluffing at the pillows behind him, he knew there was only one way it should  _ end _ .

 

Dick leaned over him, kissed his temple, his hand sliding along his chest, splaying there. Slade reached up, covered Dick’s hand with his own, squeezed it as his boyfriend nuzzled his hair. “Stay,” he whispered. Dick pulled back, glancing down at him, and Slade rubbed his thumb over his knuckles. “Stay here with me. Come back to bed… I miss it.” Slade inhaled slowly, and a part of this healing was being  _ honest _ , he knew. Honest even when he felt cliche about it. “I miss being in bed with you.”

 

“Will you get enough rest?” Dick asked, and Slade was so convinced he was a saint. In this moment, Dick Grayson was  _ holy _ , because he was still putting his concern for Slade first and foremost. Even when he’d been crashing on the couch ever since Slade came home.

 

Slade nodded. “Always sleep better with you, little bird.” Dick smiled at that, so sweetly Slade’s chest continued to ache. He pulled back, crossing the room and flipping the light off. Slade watched him move through the dark, stripping off his tshirt and leaving it on the floor  _ as he always did _ , before Dick paused next to his side of the bed. He slid his hands into his sweatpants, pushed them off his legs, before pulling the blanket back, crawling into the bed and the spot that was rightfully  _ his _ . Dick stretched out next to Slade, snuggling in close and draping an arm over his waist, as Slade lifted an arm, made more room for him against his chest. Dick’s leg arched, dangerously close to the bandage around Slade’s thigh, but there was just enough lack of contact to keep Slade’s breathing steady.

 

“If I keep you up,” Dick mumbled, not fighting or even trying to hide his own exhaustion, how it seeped into his voice. “Wake me up. I’ll go back to the couch.”

 

Slade said nothing, dropping his head back into the pillows and closing his eye, as his hand splayed on Dick’s warm, bare back. There were scars under his fingertips he couldn’t keep from rubbing, little soothing marks and bumps in Dick’s skin that were familiar enough to help lull him into ease.

 

There was no way he would ever ask Dick Grayson to leave his bed.  _ Ever _ .

 

*

 

Slade woke up to the familiar feeling of heat, against his side and chest. The familiar feeling of soft breaths against his skin, through his tshirt. The familiar  _ scent _ of Dick’s hair, so close. He didn’t open his eye, smiled to himself, basked in the heat and completely forgot himself, forgot the time and the day and the  _ year _ . This was what it was always like, warm mornings with this boy he didn’t deserve, and Slade swore this was perfection.

 

But a phantom pang in his leg brought him crashing back. He opened his eye, stared up at the ceiling, let the reality of his life settle back over him. Except that reality still had Dick curled up into him, and when Slade gave a little groan as the pain grew worse, Dick mumbled incoherently. Slade pressed his hand against his back, and Dick lifted his head, hair mussed and honestly  _ adorable _ , eyes barely open.

 

It was distracting enough to make Slade smile, through the pain. “Little bird,” he offered, voice hoarse, raspy from disuse. Dick smiled over that.

 

“Hi,” he offered, shaking his head a little, hair beginning to fall into space. Slade’s smile faltered when the pain shot up his thigh again, and Dick frowned. “What’s wrong?” he asked, beginning to sit up. “Should I get you something?”

 

“Just hurts,” Slade admitted. Dick nodded, extracting himself from Slade’s hold- and god, what an awful feeling, losing him even for a few precious moments- and headed straight for the bedroom door. He was barely gone before he was back, holding a glass of water and offering out a few pills to Slade. Slade took them, tossed them into his mouth, accepted the water and took one long swallow to get them down, before giving it back to Dick to set on the nightstand. “Thank you.”

 

Dick smiled over that, said nothing, simply walked back around the bed, crawled back in and curled up into Slade’s heat. He hummed, kissed Slade’s shoulder through his tshirt, towards the crook of his neck. “This is nice,” Dick whispered, settling a kiss on Slade’s throat. “I missed our mornings.”

 

Slade curled his arm properly around Dick, tugging him closer. Dick  _ giggled _ , moved up to kiss at Slade’s jaw, laughing more as his beard and then stubble tickled his lips and nose. Slade couldn’t keep his mouth from curving, and when Dick leaned up, he turned, met him for a proper kiss. It was slow, lazy and warm, exactly like every morning he’d ever love with this man. Dick sighed against his mouth, pressed a little harder, turning his hips towards Slade out of instinct, pelvis pushing into his hip, the top of his thigh.

 

Slade groaned, hadn’t realized when Dick had gotten up, but he was  _ hard _ . It sent his mind spiraling for a quick second, long enough for Dick to break the kiss, his cheeks to tinge this little rosey color. “Sorry,” he mumbled, sounding  _ sheepish _ . “Morning and all.” He shrugged a shoulder, and Slade swallowed thickly.

 

Truth be told, he’d felt a little lick of fire, knowing Dick was excited. And a second, over the kiss. And that color to his cheeks was making it spread from his belly, moving to pool between his thighs…

 

“Slade?” Dick asked. Instead of answering, he reached up, sank a hand into Dick’s hair and tugged him in. He kissed him again, harder this time, sliding his tongue along Dick’s pretty mouth. Dick moaned, fell right into it, kissed Slade like he’d been doing it his whole damn life, knew how to meet each movement of his lips, each flick of his tongue. Dick was squirming, trying to get closer, a hand fisting in Slade’s tshirt- and Slade’s cock was swelling with each passing second. He cupped the back of Dick’s head, tilted him back slightly, and Dick trembled,  _ trembled _ like he used to.

 

Slade groaned, the sound reverbirating between their mouths, and Dick’s hand unfisted from his tshirt, slid down his chest and belly. “Baby,” he breathed, warm against Slade’s now wet lips, “Can I… I want to…” Dick paused, licked his lips, the dart of his pink tongue mesmerizing. “I want to touch you again.”

 

Slade swallowed. He  _ wanted _ Dick to, but the memory of the last time- but god, he couldn’t live in fear. And if they were going too fast he’d  _ know _ , it’d hurt but he would  _ know _ at least. Instead of words he only nodded, and Dick’s hand dropped down, cupped the shape of his cock and gently squeezed. Slade moaned, and Dick sucked on his tongue, rubbing him softly through his underwear.

 

His hand was warm, and when Dick slipped Slade’s cock through through the slit in his boxer briefs, wrapped his fist around it, it was like  _ fire _ . Slade dropped his head back into the pillows, and Dick leaned into him, kissing at his neck. He dragged his lips over every bit he could get to, into the stubble on his cheeks, along the line of his jaw. His hand was moving steadily, not slow but not desperately fast, and Slade felt delirious, felt  _ good _ again. He moaned, felt the snag of Dick’s teeth on his pulse, and then the cant of his boyfriend’s hips, as his cock ground into Slade’s hip.

 

He wanted him. After all this, he still wanted Slade. That alone was enough to blow Slade’s mind, leave him reeling- but then Dick was whimpering into his skin, his thumb rubbing over Slade’s cockhead, spreading precum.

 

“Missed touching you,” Dick admitted, “Still dream about you. Wake up hard on the couch and grind myself into the cushions.” He was panting now, and Slade had to keep his eye closed, knew the room would spin if he dared to open it. “Come in my sweatpants so many damn mornings. Nights.  _ God _ .” He trembled, and Slade let his mouth fall open, groaning out  _ Dick _ as his hand slid faster. He was losing rhythm and Slade didn’t care, it had been so long since Dick had touched him like this- and god, he couldn’t count the last time.

 

Slade bit his lip, groaned through his teeth as his hips lifted. He almost missed the pain in his thigh as he did so, but let it drown out in the swell of pure relief as his orgasm took hold. Cum spilled over Dick’s fist as Slade trembled, another groan erupting from his chest. Dick gave a happy little sound, hips bucking against Slade again. “Baby that’s it,” he whispered, kissing his jaw. “God I love when you come.” His hand slowed down, stilled when Slade let out a  _ whimper _ because he was hyper sensitive.

 

Dick lifted his hand slowly, and Slade watched as he licked at his fingers, along his palm, cleaning up the mess. Dick’s eyelids fluttered, before he was shoving the same hand down into his own boxer briefs, curling around his cock and jerking quickly. He groaned, and Slade reached up, sank his hand into his hair and pulled him in, kissing him again. Dick trembled down to his toes, and Slade dragged his tongue along Dick’s lips, pushed past them and took his breath straight from his lungs.

 

Dick whimpered and keened, hips bucking into his hand. Slade hadn’t realized just how pent up his boyfriend was until he tugged at his hair slightly and Dick was suddenly gasping into his mouth, hips stilling, and Slade  _ knew _ he’d gotten off. The widening of his eyes before they fell shut, this little smile crossing his lips. It had taken barely anytime  _ at all _ .

 

“Come back here,” Slade said, his hand easing from Dick’s hair. Dick was careful to wipe his hand on the inside of his underwear, before melting back down into the bed, pushing flush to Slade’s side and getting his hand up on his chest. He clutched at his tshirt, as Slade kept an arm firmly against him, his other hand stroking his hair back.

 

Dick didn’t say anything. Slade didn’t need him to. In a few minutes, he’d extract himself, he’d go clean up. And they’d start their day, Slade was sure. But for one blissful moment, he wanted to live in the present, to drown in Dick’s warmth and the feeling of his smile, pushing against Slade’s chest because he refused to lift his head. Wanted to revel in the fact that this man still wanted him, after everything. That he still loved him. That he was still  _ there at all _ .

 

And Slade was sure, things had to look up.

 

*

 

Slade woke slowly, and relished every moment of it as he did. It was nothing short of a miracle to wake without nausea, without the memory of a nightmare clinging to his skin. He tightened his hold on Dick, who was still curled against him. The smaller man squirmed closer, stretching his limbs out as he did. 

 

“Good morning, little bird.” Slade whispered. He felt Dick smile against his skin. 

 

“Mornin’. How are you?” 

 

“I’m okay. Sore, honestly.” Slade sighed, aborting a stretch of his own halfway. 

 

Dick was sitting up in a flash, fixing Slade with a stare that Slade swore he could feel in his soul. “Do you need anything?”

 

Slade rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck. “A shower would be amazing. And a pizza.” 

 

Dick was silent for a moment, before a smile grew on his lips. “How about a bath? And we can talk about ordering a pizza later on if you still feel up to it.” 

 

“I’ll only take a bath if you join me, little bird.” 

 

Dick smiled before hopping off the bed. “Why did you think I suggested it?”

 

He kissed Slade softly on the mouth before he left the room to start the water. Slade smiled to himself as he heard Dick rifling around in their bathroom, heard the unmistakable sounds of a match being struck and knew Dick was taking the time to light his candles. Slade clutched at the normalcy of this morning, but knew it was like trying to trap the smoke from the incense Dick was lighting, knew it was going to blow away the moment he took the covers from his body and situated himself in his chair. 

 

_ Maybe this is the new normal, now.  _ Slade thought, and was surprised that the notion didn’t sting. It simply  _ was.  _

 

Slade sucked in a breath before moving to get off the bed, steeling himself against the pain that he knew would come. And it did, but instead of being sharp and acute like it had been, it was more a slight dull ache. Maybe he finally was getting better, now. Maybe he could put all of this behind him sooner than he thought. 

 

Carefully, Slade transferred himself to the chair Dick had left close enough to his side of the bed that he could do so without help. He suppressed a shiver when his bad leg connected with the side of the chair, but breathed through the spike of pain and settled in. Dick still had not come back into the room, but Slade could still hear him fussing around in the bathroom. 

 

Sunlight was starting to stream into the bedroom from the window, and it caught Slade’s eye. He wheeled himself over, thinking he might be able to catch the end of the sunrise. When he reached the window, his attention was brought to a small package lodged between the screen and the window pane. It was just a bit bigger than the palm of his hand, and wrapped up in brown paper with a purple string tying it together. Curious, Slade cracked open the window and revelled in the cool fresh air against his face. He reached for the package, and a small note fluttered into his lap. 

 

_ Our little secret. -Babs _

 

Slade smiled, bewildered before peeling the top of the paper away to reveal a pack of cigarettes. Somehow, Barbara had even known the right brand to get. He wasn’t surprised. 

 

Leaving the window open, Slade quickly moved back to his side of the bed and stashed the cigarettes and the note in his drawer in the bedside table. He knew Dick wouldn’t look there. 

 

As soon as he had the drawer closed, Dick was back in the room. 

 

“Hey, bear. You ready?” 

 

“Bear?” Slade repeated, a laugh in his voice as he turned to face Dick.

 

“Yeah, something I wanted to try out. Like it?” 

 

“Brat.” 

 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Dick pressed a kiss to Slade’s forehead before grabbing the handles of the chair and walking him out of the room. “Now, come on. The bath’s all warm and ready and waiting for us.” 

 

When they arrived in the bathroom, Slade was struck with how much it smelled like Dick - lavender and flowers and some kind of exotic oils. Slade wanted to curl up in it forever. He took his shirt off and Dick did the same. Dick slid his pants off before helping Slade with his. 

 

“Okay, I’ll help you in and then I’ll climb in behind you. Sound good?” 

 

Slade nodded his assent before Dick was helping him out of the chair and into the warm and inviting water. Slade closed his eyes as it encased him. He couldn’t remember anything ever feeling this good. A small moan escaped his throat before Dick was crawling into the large tub as well. Dick curled himself up behind Slade and spread his legs so Slade was sitting in between them. 

 

Dick slid his hands over Slade’s chest, dragging warm water with them. Slade sighed in contentment, leaning back against Dick and resting his head against his shoulder. 

 

“That’s it, baby. Just relax and I’ll take care of you.” Dick whispered into the crook of his neck before reaching for a bottle of soap. 

 

Slade fell into the sensations of Dick scrubbing soap over his chest and arms. He didn’t miss the way Dick’s long fingers lingered in his chest hair. The water was warm and Dick’s hands were soft. The air smelled heavenly and Slade never wanted to leave the tub. He let his eyes fall closed, sighing softly as Dick continued to scrub him clean. Slade nearly fell asleep when Dick moved on to his hair, blunt fingernails massaging against his scalp, humming softly behind him.

 

Slade was on the precipice of sleep when suddenly he felt like he was falling. In his almost-dream state he had taken a step and landed on nothing, the absence of his leg making itself known. Slade jolted forward, pulling his hair from Dick’s hands and sloshing the water in the tub over the sides. 

 

“Slade?” Dick said, sitting up and reaching for him. 

 

Slade’s head hung forward and his eye was open wide, staring into the soap filled water, looking into it. He stared at Dick’s long, dark leg sitting in juxtaposition to his pale stump. Panic seized him, locking into his chest. He could hear Dick behind him, feel him tugging against his shoulders. 

 

“Slade, baby. It’s okay. I’m here.” Dick was finally successful in tearing Slade away from staring at their legs in the water. He held Slade, his back flush against Dick’s chest, Dick’s arms folded around his front. Dick splayed a hand flat against the middle of Slade’s chest, whispering calming words to him. 

 

Slade felt himself returning, felt himself stop kicking his severed limb against the surface of the water. He relaxed as best as he could against Dick, trying to mimic the other man’s breathing. 

 

“Fuck.” Slade gasped. “Sorry, sorry.”

 

Dick shushed him. “There’s no need to apologize. Are you okay? Do you want to get out?” 

 

“Yes. Please.” Slade felt weak again in that moment. Only moments ago, he had felt like he was healing. He had been moving past this. He had been doing  _ better.  _

 

“Okay. Let’s get your breathing calmed a little bit, and then we’ll get out. Just breathe with me,  _ draga.  _ Focus on me, bear.” 

 

Slade nodded, trying his best to relax against Dick. 

 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re still doing so well. Healing takes time.” Dick mumbled, rubbing soothing circles against his skin. 

 

Slade nodded again, trying to listen to and believe what Dick was saying. It was hard to not feel discouraged, to feel like something as simple as a bath had set him twenty steps back. 

  
Slade tried not to think about the irony of that statement and did his best to melt into Dick’s touches.


	4. Chapter 4

“Nice to see a day without rain or once,” Barbara said, pulling her sunglasses off and setting them on the table. Dick nodded, settling into his seat opposite her. He set his phone out on the table, checking to make sure there were no new messages, before he glanced back at her. “And it’s nice to see you out of the apartment.”

 

“It’s.... Nice to be out,” Dick admitted, swiping a hand back through his hair.

 

“How’s Slade?”

 

Dick wasn’t sure it would ever feel normal to hear Barbara asking that. No one in the family was much interested in his boyfriend’s state  _ ever _ , if only because they thought Dick was a bit of an idiot to be getting swept up with him. Which might have been why he’d been keeping this to himself, mostly. “Better,” Dick said, “little by little. He seems… more alive. Less nightmares. We have a safeword.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Dick nodded. “Pasăre. It means  _ bird _ .” Barbara smiled at that, as Dick knitted his fingers together on the table. “But he’s getting better at letting me know what’s happening. Better at opening up.”

 

“That’s good. Small steps.”

 

Another nod. “...He let me touch him.”

 

Barbara scrunched up her face. “Literally  _ any _ other time and I would be gagging, Dick.” Dick smiled sheepishly. “But all things considered, I’ll bite.  _ And _ ?”

 

Dick licked his lips, fingers fidgeting, locked together. “It was  _ good _ . I mean, it wasn’t like the sex we usually have, but you know- it was good to know he still wants me.”

 

Barbara nodded, pausing her commentary when a waiter came over. They ordered coffee, each getting one of the far too ornate cupcakes the cafe offered- and it was only when the waiter was gone to fill the order that Barbara turned her attention back to the conversation. “He needs to know you want him still, too. So I’m sure it helped the both of you.”

 

“I  _ always _ want him.”

 

“Too much information, Dick,” Barbara said, holding up one hand and making him laugh. “I missed your laugh wonder boy.”

 

“I missed laughing.” Dick settled a bit more, leaning closer to the table. “I asked him about ten times if he was alright with me leaving him alone this morning. I thought he was going to shove me out the door. I just worry… what’s he going to do while I’m gone the whole time? Sit and watch the damn news and read articles online?”

 

“Sounds like someone’s  _ dad _ .”

 

“Dads are hot.”

 

“Dick  _ I swear _ .” Another grin from him, and Barbara was shaking her head.

 

“Sorry,  _ sorry _ . But I’m being honest. It’s like he’s looking for his next contract, and yet…” Dick unfolded his hands, reached over to idly push his phone about a bit. Always needing to move. “It’s not coming. And even if it does, he can’t take it.” Dick closed his eyes. “I think that bothers him a lot.”

 

“It does,” Barbara said, “trust me. I was  _ bothered _ by the fact that I wasn’t Batgirl any longer- that all the shit I saw the city going through, I couldn’t just jump into it, like I used to. But I found a better role.” She leaned closer, speaking in a much more hushed voice, “no one can ever pry  _ Oracle _ from my hands.” Dick smiled, opened his eyes and met her stare, his smile all the proof she’d need that he was well aware of that. “He just needs to find his balance.”

 

“Nothing will ever replace  _ Deathstroke _ ,” Dick pointed out, straightening up as the waiter came back with the coffee and pastries. Barbara hummed over that, reaching up to tap her lips- because there was no denying that Dick was right.

 

Slade was Deathstroke down to his bones, and currently, that part of him had to seem utterly  _ lost _ .

 

*

 

“Honey, I’m home!” Dick announced, a little too loudly, as he shoved the apartment door open with his elbow. He stepped in, letting it slam behind him, caught sight of the back of Slade’s head, over the couch, and then he was turning, glancing at Dick, who held up a large box with both his hands. “I brought home pastries!”

 

“Of course you did,” Slade said, shaking his head and turning away. Dick kicked his shoes off, walking over and setting the box on the end of the couch, before he flopped down, right next to Slade, his thigh pressed up against Slade’s good leg. He leaned over, kissed his cheek, earned a small smile. “How is Barbara?”

 

“Good,” Dick said, grasping Slade’s arm and snuggling into him, looking at the television. “You know, I  _ have _ Netflix.”

 

“Funny.” Slade lifted the remote, muting the news and turning, kissing the top of his head. “I am well aware you do. Maybe I want to know what’s going on out there.”

 

Dick bit his lip, was quiet for a moment. “So did you eat? I can make something if you didn’t.”

 

“I ate after you left.” The silent  _ without help _ was there, but Dick knew that was important to Slade. Doing things on his own, even though Dick wanted to jump in, to help at every chance he could. But  _ coddling _ wasn’t what Slade needed, either. Support, yes. Tenderness, even. But he needed to be independent.

 

Dick figured feeling that loss had driven him nearly insane, at first.

 

“Well, what should we do for dinner later? Want me to cook? Feel like ordering something?” Dick leaned back, perching one foot up on the edge of the couch. “Want me to make popcorn and we’ll eat that and all the cupcakes and danishes I brought home?”

 

“You are a  _ child _ ,” Slade said, shaking his head. Dick’s grin only grew.

 

“Gonna eat me up with those big teeth,  _ mister bear _ ?”

 

Slade snorted. He hung his head, and Dick could  _ see _ the laugh as it shook his shoulders. “And I signed myself up for this,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “Grayson, will you let that name die?”

 

“Why? It’s fitting.” Dick gave a little growl, before he leaned down, snuggled right into Slade’s neck. He reached up, pressed his hand to Slade’s chest and flexed, as if he wanted to dig his fingers into his chest hair, despite his tshirt.

 

That earned  _ him _ a growl. “I swear Grayson, if you  _ pull it _ .”

 

“You’ll what?” Dick asked, feeling playful. Feeling like maybe he could flirt a little, and it would be what Slade needed. After all, Barbara had pointed out- Slade needed to know he wanted him too. And Dick wanted him to know that things could still be like this, be playful like before. That he wasn’t going to change, what they  _ were _ , it wasn’t any different.

 

“Beat your ass like the brat you are,” Slade said, and Dick shivered, didn’t fight it down. He let go of Slade, hopped off the couch, light on his feet.

 

“You’ll have to catch me first.” The taunt left his lips before Dick could even  _ think _ , but the moment he spoke he was reaching up, covering his mouth, feeling the color draining from his cheeks. “Shit,” he said, “Slade, I’m- I didn’t even  _ think _ . I’m sorry.”

 

He wasn’t sure what he expected- but the little shake of Slade’s head, the still subtle curve to his smile. Not those. “Brat,” he said, reaching out and grabbing Dick by the wrist. He tugged him down onto the couch, and Dick ended up on his knees, pressing to Slade’s good thigh, his hand moving from his mouth to brace himself on the back of the couch. “I can always catch you.”

 

Slade’s hand slipped behind him, smacked his ass, and Dick yelped. The sound dissolved into a laugh though, and he hung his head, pressed his forehead into Slade’s hair. This felt so drastically different from their bath, a few days ago. And while Dick still counted that as so many steps forward, it was good to feel like they were still taking them. That there were so many more.

 

That Slade would be okay, that they’d go back to how they were. Little by little.

 

“Y’know, I was thinking…” Dick trailed off, forehead still pressed against Slade’s. 

 

Slade groaned in response, an exaggerated gesture. “ _ That’s  _ never a good sign.” 

 

Dick playfully punched Slade in the shoulder before leaning back and standing up, all in one fluid motion. “I was  _ thinking,”  _ Dick carried on as if Slade hadn’t said a thing. “I could give you a reading. I haven’t done one for you in a while. I think my cards miss you.” 

 

Slade smirked up at Dick, and instead of his usual playful answer of “ _ I don’t think they want to hear about  _ my  _ future”  _ he answered, “Yeah. I think that would be nice.” 

 

Dick rubbed his hands together in front of himself in excitement. “Great! I’ll meet you in our room?” 

 

Slade nodded, grateful as Dick pushed his chair up to the couch. “Perfect! Take your time, I’ll get ready.” 

 

And just like that, Dick disappeared into their bedroom. Slade shook his head, smiling bemusedly. Sometimes, that boy got excited about the smallest things. It was times like that that Slade swore he could see the spark of childhood in him that never fizzled out as he grew older. It wasn’t a secret that Slade adored that about him. It made him feel younger every day, watching his little bird flit about with his beautiful wings, soaring and taking him along for the ride. 

 

By the time Slade entered their room, Dick had everything set up. Slade felt something swell in his chest when he looked around. There was only one soft lamp on in the room, one covered in a beautiful hunk of pink salt. The rest of the room was lit by candles, enough that Slade could see everything clearly in a warm orange glow. Dick had incense burning, something different than his usual smokey lavender. This smoke rose in a heavy plume from a cone situated on a small stone platform on the table that sat low to the floor near the corner of their room. Dick sat on their bed, cross legged, with a silk square set in front of him, black and embellished with silver symbols. Slade recognized it immediately as his mother’s reading cloth and that something swelled in his chest even further. 

 

_ Your mother would be so proud of you.  _

 

Dick’s face lit up as Slade rounded the bed and he helped the older man settle in against the pillows. Once Slade was comfortable, Dick handed him a large and mostly clear quartz point. It was the one he usually gave to Slade to hold during these readings. Slade took it, nodded in thanks, and wrapped his fingers around the cool rock. It was almost too large for him to close his fist around. Almost. 

 

“You ready?” Dick asked as he climbed back onto the bed and curled his legs around themselves. He reached for his cards before really waiting for Slade’s answer and Slade’s eye was glued to the way his long fingers commanded the cards. 

 

He flipped them back and forth, somehow never losing his grip. He hummed to himself as he cut the deck and twisted one half of it in his hands before joining it with the other again. He closed his eyes and shuffled for a few moments more before finally speaking. “I think just a simple past-present-future for right now. I don’t want to get too in depth right away. What do you think?”

 

“I think whatever you think is right, baby bird.” 

 

Dick smiled and started to shuffle once more. “Okay. So we’ll pull three cards, one at a time. The first one represents your past, and...well, you know how this works.” Dick trailed off, and Slade could see a bit of color rising to his cheeks. He really loved to explain these sort of things, and Slade adored listening to him. 

 

Dick fell into shuffling again and eventually cut the deck once more before setting it down. He plucked a card off the top of the deck and flipped it over before laying it out before them. It boasted a picture of a person clad in a robe, blindfolded and bound, surrounded by a line of swords almost as tall as they stood. 

 

“Eight of Swords.” Dick said, leaning back and surveying the card further. “That tells of an unforeseen setback. So something happened recently that you didn’t see coming.” 

 

“Well, I wonder what  _ that  _ could have been.” Slade deadpanned, before starting to laugh. Dick laughed too.

 

“So, that one’s self explanatory, then. Do you want to pick the next one?” Dick asked. 

 

Slade tightened his grip on the quartz point before reaching forward and pulling the next card from the top of the deck. He placed it on the cloth next to the other card and stared into it as Dick began to interpret it. This card said “strength” on the bottom in large letters, but the illustration was what caught Slade’s eye. It was of a lion being held fast by a being in a white cloak, an infinity symbol over their head, and flowers pouring forth from them into the lion’s mane. 

 

“This card means control, like gaining control of a situation before it gets completely out of hand. Which I think is what you’re doing, now.” 

 

“I’m the lion.” Slade said before he realized the words were leaving his mouth. Dick looked at him expectantly, so he continued. “I’m the lion, and you’re the person. You’re taking care of me, taming me, making sure I grow enough flowers. Making sure I’m healing.” 

 

Dick smiled at Slade’s interpretation. “I like that, but I can’t take all the credit. You might be the lion, but you didn’t need me to tame you. I think maybe you’re sharing your flowers with me.” 

 

Slade smiled back as Dick pulled the next card. This card was one Slade knew well, one that seemed to come up a lot for him in readings that Dick did for him. It was sort of a comfort. The Wheel of Fortune. 

 

“Transformation.” Slade supplied.

 

“Exactly.” Dick agreed, running one finger along the slightly tattered edge of the card. “Something is going to change for you soon. Something good. Everything will end up where it needs to be, things are going to come full circle, but maybe not in a way that you expect. But it’s definitely going to be good.” 

 

Dick sounded so confident in his interpretation that Slade simply couldn’t disagree. And that was fine with Slade. He could use something good.

 

The two of them stared at the cards for a few moments before Dick gathered the rest of the deck up. 

 

“Let’s see if the deck has anything else to tell us right now.” 

 

Dick had barely completed a single shuffle when a card jumped from his hands. Delighted, Dick set down the deck and picked up the card that had leapt free. Dick started laughing before he even showed Slade the card. 

 

“What is it?” Slade had to ask before Dick turned the card to show Slade its face. 

 

The Lovers. 

 

Slade barely had a moment to register the card before Dick was carefully but hastily placing the cards on the floor beside the bed and crawling up into his lap. Dick’s lips were pressed against Slade’s, licking and nipping and trying to find a way in. Slade moaned in surprise, but happily reciprocated. He still held the quartz in his hand and he swore he could feel it vibrating with heat as Dick slipped his tongue past his lips. Slade opened his mouth and allowed Dick full entry, running his own tongue alongside Dick’s. He splayed one large hand across Dick’s back and held him steady while he deepened the kiss. 

 

In a moment, Dick backed away, his body still pressed against Slade’s chest and only enough space between their lips for the breath of a question. “You remember your safeword?” Slade nodded. Dick leaned forward to press another kiss to his parted lips. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” 

 

“I don’t.” Slade breathed, his voice husky and somehow heavy. 

 

Dick smiled and kissed Slade again, dropping his lips down to Slade’s neck. Dick slid a hand up the bottom of Slade’s tshirt and Slade shivered when his hand made contact with the hair on his chest and tugged just slightly. Slade moaned as Dick continued to kiss lower still, mouthing at the thin fabric over his nipples. Dick slid from his lap, kissing at a hipbone before slipping his thumbs beneath the waistband of Slade’s boxers and removing them completely. Slade sighed as Dick pressed kiss after kiss to the sensitive skin of his hips, dipping down carefully to mouth along his thighs. 

 

Dick was careful to avoid the juncture of Slade’s thighs, even though Slade was sure Dick was aware of just how  _ hard  _ he was, nearly twitching with every movement, precum leaking unabashedly. Dick paused, sitting up for a quiet moment and catching Slade’s gaze before bending forward again. 

 

If it wasn’t the intensity in Dick’s eyes that made Slade gasp, it was the soft and gentle kiss he placed against the ghost of the stitches in his leg. Slade tensed automatically, but Dick carried on, pressing one hand flat on his thigh before kissing lightly along the still pink scar. 

 

“Dick.” Slade gasped, reaching for Dick’s shoulders, the flat edge of the quartz digging into his back. Dick rubbed a soothing rhythm onto Slade’s thigh and continued marking a trail of feather light kisses against the slightly puckered and gnarled tissue. “Dick, you don’t have to-”

 

“Do you want me to stop?” Dick stopped for a moment, looking up at Slade’s face, trying to read it. 

 

“No.” Slade nearly sobbed, numbly surprised by the tears forming in corners of his eyes. 

 

“Then I’m not going to.” Dick returned to peppering every inch of his wounded leg with kisses. “I love you, Slade. I love every single part of you, every piece, no matter what happens, or what changes. I always, always will. You have my word on that.” 

 

“I don’t deserve you.” Slade gasped, cock still hardening impossibly. He squirmed under Dick’s attention, his undying affection. 

 

“Hush, bear. Yes, you do. You deserve the world.” 

 

Slade reached down to hook Dick’s chin, angle his gaze up at him. “And I have it.” 

 

Dick smiled before bowing forward once more, this time pressing his lips to the head of Slade’s cock. Slade shivered in response, a small whimper escaping his lips. Dick moved one hand to the base of Slade’s cock, rubbing slightly against his balls and earning another moan. Dick’s other hand stayed on Slade’s thigh, his palm ghosting the bottom of what was left of his leg, somehow both a gentle and firm presence at the same time. It wasn’t altogether an unpleasant sensation, just strange. 

 

Slade gasped as Dick sunk down on him, taking him fully into his mouth. Dick’s wet and warm mouth slid down the side of Slade’s length, mouthing at his balls once before kissing back up the other side. He flicked his tongue over Slade’s head, making sure to go slowly over his slit. Dick moaned at the taste of his precum and he hollowed his cheeks out to take him into his mouth once more. 

 

Slade was lost in the sensation, he was seeing white static threatening to overtake his vision within moments. He knew Dick could feel him twitching against the roof of his mouth, and yet he continued, rubbing soothing circles into the scar tissue on what remained of his knee. 

 

“ _ Dick.”  _ Slade gasped again, fisting a hand in the short hairs at Dick’s neck. 

 

Dick let Slade’s cock fall from his mouth with a wet and obscene  _ pop.  _ Slade whined at the loss of contact. 

 

“Not so fast, old man.” Dick said, smiling wickedly before leaning up and reaching into the pillows behind Slade. “I’ve got plans.” he whispered, moving the wisps of hair near Slade’s ear and Slade swore he could smell himself on Dick’s breath. 

 

Slade’s eye focused on Dick’s hand, a bottle of lube being opened and spread out on his fingers. Dick reached to slip out of his own boxers and he slid a single finger into himself, arching into Slade from the contact. 

 

“Devil boy.” Slade whispered, clutching onto Dick as he inserted another finger and stretched himself in preparation for Slade.  Dick squirmed, riding himself as Slade’s hands slid along his sides, over the curve of his waist and down to the jut of his hips. Dick bit his lip, jerked his hips forward, baring his cock as a bead of precum slid down along his length.

 

Smirking to himself, Slade wrapped one hand around him, giving him a tight, slow stroke up from base to tip. Dick’s breath shuddered out, as Slade’s thumb rubbed over his cockhead, smeared the precum and teased his slit. “Sl-ade”, Dick managed, the name broken, and Slade felt his own cock give a heavy, needy twitch. To think that his name still sounded like nirvana, on Dick’s tongue-

 

It made him think those cards had to be right. That things would change, for the better. That he’d be exactly where he needed to be, in the end, with his little bird right beside him.

 

Dick curled his fingers, the angle not allowing him deep enough to get his prostate, and let out a frustrated grunt. Slade gave him another slow stroke, before Dick was pulling his fingers out, shaking hands tipping the lube over onto Slade’s cock, pouring more than was necessary onto him. It was cold, and Slade gritted his teeth, got a little laugh from Dick.

 

“Lemme warm you up,” he whispered, reaching for Slade’s shoulders. He grasped them tightly, lifting himself up, and Slade reached down, held the base of his own cock steady, the other curling around Dick’s hip, helping to guide him. Dick eased down, head tipping back as Slade’s cockhead breached his body, as inch by slow inch he settled down on his cock. Slade bit his tongue, groaning and watching Dick look like he’d found pure bliss, when he settled fully in his lap. Dick was panting lightly, and when he finally lifted his head, leveled a stare at Slade, his eyes were huge, dark, going towards that inky black they did when he was so turned on he was out of his skin.

 

Seeing that stare again had Slade surging forward, free hand curling around the back of Dick’s neck, pulling him in. He kissed him, harsh movements of his lips and tongue, prying into Dick’s mouth. Dick whined, his blunt nails digging into Slade’s shoulders as he lifted himself up, slammed back down so damn hard Slade was seeing stars again. He reached around Dick, grasped his ass in one hand, pulling him open wider, and Dick broke the kiss to gasp sharply.

 

“Slade,  _ Slade _ .”

 

Slade growled. Growled and bowed his head, teeth dragging along Dick’s neck. He sucked at his pulse, and Dick let go of his shoulders, fell back and grasped at his thighs. He arched, squeezing hard as he continued to ride him, as Slade leaned back and got to just  _ look _ at him.

 

Dick Grayson was, without a doubt, the most beautiful and sinful sight he had ever seen.

 

“Dick,” he groaned, felt Dick clench up around him. Dick had gotten him too close, too fast, and Slade wanted this to last forever but knew it  _ wouldn’t _ . “Little bird, slow down.”

 

“ _ No _ .” It came out insolent, demanding- and Dick slammed himself down, fingers digging into the meat of Slade’s thighs. A little lower, and he’d start to hit scars- but Dick didn’t seem to care, had proven already that he would love them. “I want you to come.”

 

“Not-” Slade tipped his head back, exhaled a shaking breath as his cock twitched, his mind slowly dying over the pure heat inside Dick. “Not without you.” Dick chuckled over that, this devilish sound, before he was rolling his hips. The movement had Slade’s belly going tight, and the  _ image _ of Dick like that, all dark skin, the bead of sweat rolling of his neck, down his chest- the flush to his cheeks and chest, it was too much.

 

Slade groaned, gritting his teeth as Dick continued, over and over again, until he couldn’t bare it. Slade tipped his head back, until the back of it pressed to the wall, reaching for his boyfriend and grasping his arms in a vice like grip. He came like that, buried inside Dick as his lover rode him, his skilled hands still grasping Slade’s thighs.

 

Dick gave a happy sob over it, over feeling Slade’s cock pulsing inside his body, the wet heat that followed. He grinned and cooed, moving until Slade sagged back, panting and trying to catch his breath. Dick stilled, very carefully leaned forward, getting his hands on Slade’s shoulders. His cock rubbed against Slade’s belly, and Slade surged forward. Still panting, he hooked one arm around Dick, the other reaching between them, grasping his cock and jerking him quickly.

 

Dick gasped, tossed his head. “Do you want my fingers?” Slade asked, and Dick whined a drawn out  _ no _ , body clenching around Slade.

 

“Want you to stay inside me,” he gasped, and Slade bent his head, nuzzled Dick’s neck. He let Dick squirm in his lap, held him tightly as he kissed and licked his damp skin, his strokes tight and borderline  _ too much _ . But it was everything Dick wanted, needed- and when he arched so damn hard Slade swore his spine would crack and crumble, when he came with a  _ scream _ -

 

It was heaven, to Slade.

 

Dick slumped forward, panting harshly. Slade smiled, leaned back himself, let Dick catch his breath. After a moment, Dick very carefully lifted himself up, climbing off Slade’s lap to collapse onto the bed next to him. He slid close, arched a leg up into the space where Slade’s leg should have been, his hand resting on Slade’s belly.

 

“That,” Dick said, licking his lips, “I sorely missed.” Slade chuckled, glanced over at Dick, before he reached out, brushed his hair back. Dick hummed over the tender touch, pulled himself closer and settled his head on Slade’s chest, his hand rubbing up, fingers toying in his chest hair. “You fuck me like no one ever has.”

 

“You did all the work that time, little bird.” Slade bent, kissed the top of Dick’s head. Dick sighed, giving Slade’s chest hair a little tug. Slade grunted, and Dick tipped his head up, still had that devil smile on his lips.

 

“It was still your cock I came around.” He winked, and Slade reached down, got his hand in his hair, pulled him up to kiss that smirk away. Dick sighed, tugged at his chest hair again, got Slade growling into his mouth.

 

“ _ Brat _ ,” he muttered, and Dick moved his hand, scraped his nails along Slade’s nipple. He gasped, and Dick bit his lip, tugged at it.

 

“Your brat,” he mumbled, before he was suddenly climbed right back into Slade’s lap, grinding against his still soft but slick cock. Slade’s hips bucked up, and Dick splayed both hands on his chest, tossing his head and mimicking as if he was riding Slade again. “I wanna go again.”

 

Slade groaned, reaching for Dick’s hips. “I need more than five minutes, little bird.”

 

Dick laughed, still rolling his hips. And, gods be damned, Slade’s cock twitched, slowly responding. “I’ll wait,” he offered, reaching down to cover Slade’s hands at his hips with his own. “Right. Here.”

 

Slade smiled at that, squeezed Dick’s hips and rubbed his thumbs over them lovingly.

 

*

 

“It’s like, I have my boyfriend back.” Dick was sprawled out on the couch, one leg tossed up over the back of it. “I mean it Barbara. We  _ fucked _ and I swear I’m still feeling aftershocks.”

 

On the other end of the line, Barbara was laughing. “TMI, Grayson.”

 

“It was  _ yesterday _ and I swear I still-”

 

“Dick oh my  _ god _ .” She was laughing so hard she could barely speak. “Stop already!” He grinned, chuckling himself.

 

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just nice. We always had good sex, it was just… a part of who we were. It’s not  _ everything _ , but… I like being close to him, like that.” Dick rested his hand on his belly. “I’m proud of him, Babs.”

 

She hummed. “I know you are. He’s progressing well. Has he left the apartment yet?”

 

“No.”

 

“Maybe this might be a good time.” Dick thought on it, sucked on his tongue, curled his toes because he couldn’t disagree. It would be nice to exist outside again, for the world to see them together. He used to love lacing their fingers together, the looks they’d get. Some weren’t always  _ pretty _ , but Dick wasn’t blind- they were both attractive. And maybe he was vain enough to love feeling like someone was looking at him, and Slade was getting  _ defensive _ .

 

Liked having people check out his  _ man _ and knew that  _ he _ was going home with him.

 

“I like the idea,” Dick admitted. “Even if it’s just some fresh air. Dinner, maybe. I miss things like that.” He paused. “Do you think he’ll be alright?”

 

“There’s only one way to find out, Dick.”

 

He knew she was right. And he owed Barbara so much, for all her help. The least he could do was trust her, trust  _ Slade _ . Trust that whatever happened, they would be heading in the right direction.

 

*

 

The lighter rasped against Slade’s thumb as he lit it, holding it close to the cigarette in his mouth. He inhaled, savoring the sting of the smoke in the back of his throat. Another puff, and the nicotine rushed to his head immediately. He was dizzy for moment, but in a familiar and comforting way. Slade closed his eye and breathed in again, holding his breath for a long moment before letting the smoke curl from his nostrils. 

 

Slade was still in the bedroom he and Dick shared, huddled up to the window on his side of the room. He had it open fully, even the screen was pushed up. The fresh air against his face was something he always took for granted, but even filtered into the apartment like it was, it felt amazing. Carefully, Slade reached out and ashed the cigarette over the window sill, a part of him wishing he could watch it fall. 

 

From his chair, he could only see sky and clouds, not the streets and the city below. He wondered what it looked it, what was happening down there without him. Without Dick, too. According to what he could see, it looked clear and beautiful, only birds and blue sky. It looked like maybe everything had gotten better, or at least  _ looked  _ better on the outside, along the precarious edges. 

 

Slade felt the same way about himself, if he was being honest. 

 

Slade finished his cigarette and tossed it out the window just as Dick was opening the door and coming in. Slade turned toward him, and Dick was giving him a huge smile. A smile big enough that his heart still leapt, even after all this time.

 

“What’re you so happy about, little bird?” Slade asked when Dick was closer. Dick wrapped his arms around Slade’s neck and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, their now customary greeting.  

 

“I had an idea.” 

 

“Here we go with your ideas, again.” 

 

“It wasn’t just my idea this time, honestly.” Dick protested against Slade’s gentle teasing. “Babs suggested it.” 

 

Slade’s thoughts strayed back to the cigarette he had just enjoyed while he waited for Dick to continue. 

 

“How would you feel about going out for dinner tonight?” 

 

The question hung heavy in the air. Slade was conscious of himself blinking. Dick wanted Slade to  _ leave  _ the apartment? Like  _ this?  _ Wheelchair and all? 

 

“Dick…” Slade started, but Dick cut him off. 

 

“I don’t mean anywhere fancy. We could even just go to the pizza joint at the end of the block. No cars or anything. I’ll be there the whole time. It would be good for you to get out, I think.” Dick prattled on, and Slade wondered if he was aware he was doing it. 

 

Slade also wondered if Dick realized that he would go anywhere he wanted him to, if only to make him smile in the way he had earlier. 

 

“Okay. I’ll go.” 

 

It was Dick’s turn to be silent now. “Really?” 

 

Slade shrugged. “Yeah, if you think it’ll be good, I should just trust you right?” 

 

Dick smiled again. “I’ll help you get ready.” 

 

*

 

The feeling of the outside air around him was foreign, but not as completely alien as the feeling of being pushed down the sidewalk in a wheelchair. Slade grit his teeth and swallowed down the feelings of inadequacy that threatened to bubble over. Dick was chattering behind him, he seemed so excited to be out and sharing some time with Slade. Along the way, he even stopped to pick a wildflower (more of a weed, really) and carefully placed it in Slade’s hair. Slade couldn’t help but smile at that. 

 

The smile slowly fell as they approached the pizza place. The walk there was held in a tiny bubble, in their own space and time where nothing could touch them, it seemed. But entering the restaurant would shatter the illusion. There were people inside, sitting and eating. Slade could see them through the windows. He was soon to be in close quarters with them. The anonymity of being a stranger on the street would vanish the moment he and Dick went inside. They would be existing in a shared space, and that space held so many variables it almost made Slade want to tell Dick to turn around. 

 

“Are you ready, bear?” Dick asked, quietly and close to Slade’s ear. 

 

Slade took a deep breath before answering, gathering his thoughts and collecting himself. “Yeah. I’m hungry.” 

 

“Good! What do you want? The usual?” Dick asked happily as he pushed Slade inside the smudged glass door. Slade had never been this consciously close to the floor before. He could see fingerprints left over by all the children who had come in and out today. Slade nodded in response to Dick’s question as the bell above the door chimed. 

 

Slade swore he could feel everyone in the shop looking at them, even though they weren’t. 

 

“Let’s get a table, and then I’ll go order for us, okay?” 

 

“Sure, that’s fine.” Slade agreed as Dick pushed him up to a table near the window. There were only a few tables inside, and two of them were already taken. Closest to them, there was a table filled with a group of boys that couldn’t have been older than high schoolers. They fell silent as Dick and Slade approached. 

 

Dick walked away after pressing another kiss to Slade’s forehead and promising a swift return. Slade tried to keep his eye on Dick, watched him walk, admired his ass in the yoga pants he was wearing. Slade did anything to keep his skin from crawling under the gaze of the group behind him. He swore they were starting to whisper now, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up in an uncomfortable way. He watched Dick order, saw his lips moving but couldn’t hear what he was saying to the man behind the counter. 

 

“You think that’s his grandpa?” A voice came from over Slade’s shoulder, quiet enough that not everyone could hear it, but loud enough that Slade knew he was meant to. He grit his teeth and tried to focus on Dick walking back to the table. He wasn’t going to let a bunch of teenage assholes get to him. 

 

“He’s too old to be his dad.” 

 

_ He wasn’t.  _

 

Dick got back to the table, oblivious to what was happening around Slade. He stopped behind him and rubbed his shoulders a bit and Slade relaxed into his touch, exhaling a sigh. 

 

“I’m so glad you came out with me today, baby.” Dick whispered in his ear and pressed a chaste kiss to the side of his neck, lingering just a bit too long to be innocent. 

 

Slade breathed in Dick’s scent as he walked away, around the table to sit down himself. As he pulled out his chair, the whispers carried over again. 

 

“Dude, no, I think they’re  _ fucking. _ ”

 

“No fucking way, the cripple’s a queer?” 

 

Slade cringed at the word  _ cripple _ and tried to focus on holding Dick’s gaze. 

 

“I doubt he could get any pussy like _ that.”  _

 

“What do you think pretty boy sees in him? His cock must be  _ nonexistent.” _

 

“Maybe he’s bad in bed.”

 

Dick’s eyes grew wide before Slade was turning around. Harassing him was one thing, but Slade couldn’t sit there and let them insult Dick. He whipped his chair around sharply and crashed slightly into their metal table. This had the group of boys standing and knocking their chairs over. 

 

“Watch it, gramps.” 

 

“Fuck, do you see his eye? This fag’s falling apart.”`

 

A snarl started in Slade’s throat, but before he could say a thing Dick was standing at his side. “Why don’t you guys get out?” 

 

One of the boys opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by the manager’s hand on his shoulder. They backed off almost immediately. “You guys had better head out. And don’t you plan on comin’ back.”

 

Slade heard the man apologizing to them through a film. Dick was crouching in front of him, hands on his thighs. Slade tried to breathe through the electric crackle of the situation diffusing. He didn’t want to give up now, didn’t want to disappoint Dick, didn’t want to let those  _ children  _ get to him. They were gone now, and everything was fine, there was no reason that he shouldn’t be able to enjoy a fucking pizza with his boyfriend. 

 

“Bear?” Dick asked, trying to catch his eye. He must have asked him a question that Slade hadn’t registered. 

 

“I’m okay. It’s alright.” Slade responded, his voice gruff. He wheeled himself back up to the table and tried to push the sour tingle of nausea out of his mind. 

 

The pizza was already on the table and Dick was talking to the manager again. It seemed he was trying to give them their pizza for free, and Dick was trying to decline. He eventually left and Dick smiled at Slade, but the edges were sad. 

 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” 

 

“You didn’t do anything, little bird.” Slade watched as Dick placed a greasy slice of pizza onto Slade’s plate. His stomach was empty and even though he was still vaguely nauseous, he thought it might be a good idea to put something in it. Slade took a bite, and then another. 

 

Dick was chatting to him about something, but Slade was having problems focusing on him. He took another bite of pizza to keep from having to speak. His ears were buzzing slightly and the skin across the bottoms of his wrists felt pulled tight. Another bite, this time to give his hands something to do, to hopefully dispel the shaky feeling. It didn’t work. 

 

Suddenly, a sharp pain shot down into Slade’s leg. Or, the absence of his leg. Slade set the slice of pizza back on the greasy paper plate. His breath caught in his throat and his shoulders stiffened.  _ Fuck  _ He wasn’t going to be able to get past this so easily. He placed his hands flat on the table and Dick was already standing up. 

 

“ _ Pasare.”  _ Slade whispered, even though he knew didn’t really need to. “ _ Pasare.”  _

 

The moment the word was out of Slade’s mouth, Dick was behind him and he was moving,  _ they  _ were moving and the bell rang above their heads again on the way out. 

 

The walk home happened around Slade in a haze of dizzy fog. He could hear Dick talking to him, whispering hushed words of affection and encouragement. Slade clenched his teeth and didn’t answer, one hand fisted into the fabric on his thigh, trying to stave away the sharp pains in the part of his body that  _ wasn’t fuckng there.  _

 

He barely made it to the door of the apartment building before he cracked. He hardly held back a sob as they got into the elevator. As the doors shut behind them, Dick was crouching down in front of him again, one finger under his chin, eyes searching. “Baby, baby,  _ draga.  _ We’re here now, we’re almost home. I’m so so sorry. This was all my idea. I shouldn’t have pressured you into going out.” 

  
Slade could almost feel the guilt rolling off of Dick. He couldn’t stand it. This wasn’t Dick’s fault, not even remotely. He should have been okay, been able to handle it. It had been long enough, he had had enough time to get used to his reality now, and he thought he had done it. He really thought he was going to be okay. The only contempt Slade felt was towards himself. Did he think he was just going to be able to sit inside the safety of their apartment forever now? 

 

The elevator opened and they were down the hall and into the apartment quicker than Slade ever remembered before. His breaths kept catching in his chest, and every time he thought maybe he was going to be able to take a gulp of air, a sharp sting of pain would radiate to the limb that wasn’t there anymore. It was the most alien sensation Slade had ever experienced. He swore that if he looked down, there would be a leg there.

 

But there wasn’t, there  _ wasn’t.  _

 

His hands were trembling in full force now and Dick was still standing in front of him, trying to help him from his chair to the couch, trying to calm him down, but Slade could barely hear him over the ringing in his own ears. Ringing that melted into screams inside his head. 

 

“Slade, baby, you need to breathe. How can I help?” 

 

Slade clenched his teeth and shook his head - back and forth, back and forth quickly - and groaned out of both pain and frustration. “Hurts. Fuckin’ hurts.” 

 

Dick nodded and reached forward, lightly rubbing against Slade’s thigh. Slade’s breath caught again and this time his stomach turned with it. He couldn’t gather enough strength to fight against the nausea anymore and barely mumbled out, “G’nna be sick-” 

 

Dick had the living room waste basket in front of him in the blink of an eye and held it out for Slade. He couldn’t find it in himself to take it from Dick, and instead reached a hand out to squeeze into Dick’s shoulder, trying to keep himself grounded. Dick reached forward as well and placed a hand against Slade’s hip. He began to rub a small circle into it and Slade hung his head over the trash and whimpered. This was not how he wanted to end the afternoon. 

 

“Oh, baby. You’re okay. I’m right here. Just get it out.” 

 

Slade spat, sour saliva sticking to insides of his cheeks. He felt clammy and uncomfortable. It didn’t take him long to start heaving. The first heave was breathless and nothing came up except air, punctuated by a wet burp which had Slade heaving a second time. A mouthful of bile spilled from his lips and his stomach made a sound of protest. Slade squeezed Dick’s shoulder harder, barely had a moment to suck in a breath before a mouthful of congealed and undigested pizza was sliding up his throat. He had to spit to get it out of his mouth, and Slade swore he could feel bits of crust stuck to the roof of his mouth before he gagged again, vomit coming easier this time. Dick was still in front of him, unflinchingly there and Slade felt familiar tears well up in his eyes because of that. One final retch and he was finished, completely empty and pushing away the basket, the bag lining it crinkling as Dick put it down. 

 

Slade exhaled shakily, finally able to hold a gulp of air inside of his lungs for long enough. 

 

“That’s it, bear. One more?” Dick coaxed and Slade did his best to suck in and hold another breath. He did this a few more times before collapsing forward onto Dick, grunting when pain still reverberated through his leg. 

 

“I’m so sorry.” 

 

*

 

Dick stroked Slade’s hair back, watched the man’s steady breathing. Despite that it was earlier, they’d gotten into bed shortly after Slade had calmed down. Dick thought it might be a good idea.

 

Slade was finally asleep. Dick continued to watch for a moment, before he very carefully extracting himself from Slade’s side. He stood up, walked around the bed towards his altar and reached down, picking up a piece of amethyst he’d left sitting out. He clutched it in his hand, rubbed his thumb along it as he headed out into the living room. His phone was sitting on the couch, and he flopped down next to it, tipped his head back and sighed, still feeling the rock in his hand.

 

He blamed himself. Maybe he’d pushed Slade too far too fast. And while Dick knew he didn’t have control over how others acted, it was in his nature to shoulder the guilt.

 

He heard his phone buzzing and lifted his head, opening his eyes and looking down at it.  _ Little Wing _ was flashing, and Dick grabbed it, unlocking the phone and answering. “Hello?”

 

“Goldie, you in one piece?”

 

Dick frowned. “Yeah…?”

 

“You haven’t been out. B said you haven’t talked to him or Damian in a long time. In anyway. I wanted to make sure you didn’t fall off the face of the planet.”

 

Dick sighed, sucked at his tongue. He rubbed the sharp edges of his amethyst, trying to think of what to  _ say _ . Could he give Jason the truth? The only one he’d confided in was Barbara- hadn’t even reached out to Bruce, to  _ Damian _ . And he knew eventually everyone was going to know what had happened, but he guessed he had hoped to have Slade as healed as possible, by then.

 

“Dick?” Jason sounded concerned now, and Dick wondered how long he’d sat there, in silence.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, cleared his throat. “Just… been a lot going on lately.” Dick sighed, and he knew the momentary silence was Jason giving him room to elaborate. Silently asking. And Dick realized that he wanted to share, to spill the truth. Wanted someone else to understand, aside of Barbara. “ _ It’s Slade. _ ”

 

“Fuck he didn’t leave, right?”

 

Dick choked. “No,” he managed, and he couldn’t believe Jason would  _ think _ that- except he knew that Jason thought that was one of the most painful things that could happen to Dick. And he could appreciate that. “No, he… I don’t know what happened. His job went wrong.”

 

And Dick lost it. He choked over the phone and told Jason  _ everything _ . Finding Slade, having him in a pained and drug filled delirium. Trying to care for him, to help him heal. All the setbacks, the endless spiral of two steps forward and  _ five  _ back.

 

And yet- “He’s been doing so well though,” Dick choked. “God I’m so proud. He’s trying so  _ hard _ .” He shivered, clutched at the amythest so hard it dig into his skin, as he leaned forward. “I see glimpses of my boyfriend there, in him. I see my  _ Slade _ . I see him trying. But this isn’t…” Dick sobbed, his hand opening, the amethyst tumbling to the floor. “God Jason this isn’t the life he wanted.”

 

Jason hushed him. “Dick, man, take a breath for me.” Dick tried to, inhaled deep and held it in, his face wet. He’d cried too much lately, but he couldn’t seem to find a way to stop. He was bone dead tired again. “Shit, you should have reached out. God- look, I know the family doesn’t always  _ like _ what you’ve got with him, but you’re my brother to the end. Tim’s, Damian’s. We would’ve stepped up. Even Bruce would have.”

 

“Don’t be so sure,” Dick whispered, shaking his head. “I just don’t know how to help him anymore, Jason. I thought I did. I thought we were getting somewhere. But maybe there’s only so far we can get…”

 

“Dick,” Jason said again, calmer now. Dick nodded, even though Jason couldn’t see. “You know this doesn’t have to be how it is, right? Listen, let me talk to Roy. We can help you.” Dick opened his mouth to protest, before he clamped it shut. And for a brief moment, he saw Roy in his mind, the gleaming metal of his arm- “We’re going to figure it out. You’re not doing this alone, goldie.”

 

Dick swallowed. “Thank you,” he managed.

 

“You’d do the same for me,” Jason said, and it was true.

 

“I… I’m going to go turn in,” Dick said, “I’m tired now. Tomorrow?”

 

“I’ll be in touch.” Dick hung up the phone, leaned over and fetched the amethyst from the floor. He stood up, rolled it in his hand, before closing his palm around it and trying to center himself, to calm himself. It would be  _ okay _ . He’d reached out, like he needed to. Like he had to Barbara. And Slade would  _ understand _ -

  
Especially because he thought Jason and Roy’s help held  _ promise _ .


	5. Chapter 5

Slade rolled his way slowly around the bed, pulling at the blanket, trying to make it look presentable. They had slept in late, which he had appreciated. The day before had left him drained, and his body, his mind, needed the rest.

 

He’d apologized again that morning. Apologized and Dick had of course said it was  _ fine _ , it wasn’t his fault. But Slade still hated how upset he had been, when they had come so far.

 

He just wanted to see Dick smile again.

 

He heard his boyfriend walking around the apartment, and then a knock at the door. Slade didn’t stop what he was doing, attempting to rearrange Dick’s far too numerous pillows. He clicked his tongue, still had no idea how there was room for the both of them in the bed. He leaned over, adjusted one, as the bedroom door was carefully pushed open.

 

“Who was at the door?” Slade asked, not turning around. But instead of Dick answering, Slade saw a small set of hands grasping the bed, and then Lian hopping up, hoisting herself onto what he had just straightened. Slade felt a cold sweat break out over his spine, knew if she was there that meant Jason, or Roy, or  _ both _ were out there, with Dick.

 

Lian inclined her head, kicked her mismatched socked feet. “Hi,” she said, smiling, and Slade never knew how to  _ handle _ this kid. Kids weren’t his biggest fans, and even when he was blending in they avoided him, acted like they could see just how terrifying he was, in the shadows.

 

Lian had never been like that. And while Slade hadn’t been exposed to her as much as he could have been, considering it was hard to be at  _ family events _ when he knew half the family didn’t approve of what he and Dick had- he’d been around her enough to think she was fearless.

 

Like both her parents.

 

“You’re in a chair like Barbie,” Lian pointed out, and Slade glanced down. He might have laughed over the nickname for Barbara, if he didn’t want to hide himself from a  _ child’s _ eyes.

 

“I am,” he managed. He thought to call out to Dick. To get Lian out of there.

 

She leaned closer. “Daddy and Jayjay told me you were. Daddy came to talk to Dickie. They said you didn’t feel well. Are you sick?”

 

Slade sighed. “No,” he said, even if he wasn’t so sure. “I… lost something.” Lian looked quizzical, and Slade didn’t know how to  _ have _ this conversation. He shifted the blanket in his lap, let it slide along where a leg should have been, trying to show her that there was nothing there, now.

 

Lian frowned. “Does it hurt?”

 

“Yeah,” Slade admitted. “It does.”

 

She nodded, stuck her tongue out a little like she was thinking. “Daddy says his arm hurts sometimes,” she pointed out, “sometimes he curls up and Jayjay rubs his back. You’re like daddy now.” She reached into the pocket of her little denim jacket, pulled something out and held it towards Slade.

 

Slade studied the string bracelet. It was a mingling of pinks and blues, all knotted together. He reached out, and Lian dropped it in his hand.

 

“I can’t make you feel better,” she said, “but daddy says it’s important to let people know you think ‘bout them.” Slade studied the string, felt his chest constricting a little bit. He carefully looped it around his wrist, tied it off, and Lian shimmied closer to the edge of the bed. She leaned over, trying to see, and Slade held up hand up. “Do’ya like it?”

 

Slade nodded. He didn’t know what else to even  _ do _ \- because here was a kid who should be scared of him, and she was just trying to make him feel better. Here was a kid who didn’t know how  _ bad  _ he’d always been with children.

 

For a moment, he missed Joey. Rose. Missed the kids he’d never done right by- and wondered how they could even look at him now.

 

“Can I sit with you?” Lian asked. “Sometimes Barbie lets me sit with her.”

 

Slade’s tongue felt heavy, clumsy. He sat under this child’s stare for a while- but didn’t know how to say  _ no _ . So instead he nodded, offered out his hands, and Lian leaned into his hold. He hoisted her up, settled her on his lap, and Lian smiled, leaned happily into his arm and chest.

 

“You’re big,” she pointed out, staring up at him. And Slade, for the first time in a while,  _ felt _ large. Lian seemed so small, sitting there, barely past six. Without meaning to, he curled an arm around her, and she snuggled in. “And warm,” she mumbled, “does Dickie use you as a pillow? Jayjay uses daddy as one sometimes.”

 

“He does,” Slade admitted, daring to touch his fingers to Lian’s hair. Silken soft, if he leaned down she’d smell like fruity shampoo, that overly rich scent that kids loved. She sighed, wiggled her feet again, and Slade rested his hand in her hair, held her against his chest. He closed his eyes, just enjoyed the strange sort of innocence children had, how relaxing she was, until the bedroom door was pushing fully open.

 

“Hey,” Dick said, softly, as Slade turned to glance at him. “Lian in here-” Dick paused his question as he walked around, found her curled up happily in Slade’s lap. Dick chuckled, bent over and brushed her hair back. Lian yawned, glanced up at him, before turning back to snuggle Slade.

 

“Dickie he’s comfy,” she whispered, and Dick laughed louder.

 

“I know buttercup. How about you hop down though, for a minute?”

 

“She’s fine,” Slade said, not wanting to let her go. Dick glanced up, held his stare for a moment, before he nodded.

 

“Roy and I want to talk to you,” he said, “if you’re up to it.” Slade nodded, and Dick walked around his chair, grasped it and wheeled him out of the bedroom. Roy was sitting on their couch, one arm up along the back, his hair in a sloppy ponytail. He smiled when they came into view, his eyes darting over Lian.

 

“I see she’s getting into everything,” he said, as she straightened up, smiling.

 

“Daddy! Slade liked the bracelet!”

 

“Did he now?” Lian squirmed, and Slade helped her down- cringed when she brushed the edge of his bad leg. She headed over for her father, who leaned forward, ruffled her hair. “Can you go be a good girl and look at Dick’s rocks? But remember, we look with our eyes, not our hands.”

 

Lian nodded, glanced back- and Dick gave his silent approval. She hurried off towards the bedroom, heading straight for the altar, and Roy stood up.

 

“We’ll have to make this quick,” he said, “she doesn’t keep her hands to herself for long. I heard what happened. And I’m sorry.”

 

Slade didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Roy Harper being  _ sorry _ for him. The kid was one of the original Titan brats- but he figured it was a miracle he was there at all. That he wasn’t doubting Dick about him, about them.

 

“And sorry isn’t what you need,” Roy pointed out. “I know that. I didn’t need  _ sorry _ when this happened.” He gestured to his cybernetic arm. “I needed a fix because I had shit to do. I needed to feel like me again.” He glanced back at Dick, before turning his stare back to Slade. “We can do this for you. We can rebuild you, if that’s what you want.”

 

Slade stared at him. He stared at the connection between Roy and his arm, how it moved so easily, fluidly, like it had always been there. And for a moment, he let himself  _ miss _ all the things in his life that had been taken.

 

“I don’t approve of what you do, what you’ve  _ done _ ,” Roy pointed out, “but Dick loves you. Trusts you. And I owe him my trust, at the very least. Even if this means  _ Deathstroke _ is back to his gun for hire ways, I’ll sleep with that guilt. You two… work.” Roy sighed. “I don’t want to see you two straining. And I  _ understand _ . I understand…” He trailed off, when there was a gentle  _ thud _ from the bedroom. Roy glanced towards the door. “Excuse me,” he said, moving past them, “Lian what was that?”

 

He disappeared, and Dick walked around Slade, settled his hand on his shoulder. “It’s your choice,” Dick said, “whatever you do, I’m here for. I love you as you are now. You’re no less a man than you ever have been. But…” he sighed. “I know you miss it. I know you miss how things were.”

 

Slade couldn’t deny he did. It’d be a lie, and Dick didn’t deserve those. He reached up, covered Dick’s hand with his own, gave it a firm squeeze.

 

They had been taking this a day at a time, being as proactive as they could be. But Slade knew it was far past time he take his life back, by any means necessary.

 

*

Slade helped Dick clean out the mugs that he had offered Roy and Lian hot chocolate in, despite his protests. Slade was determined to do  _ something.  _ He had a lot buzzing around in his head at that moment, and he needed something to do with his hands to give it an outlet as he mulled it over. While Dick was putting the things back in the cupboards, he wheeled to the living room and turned the tv on, without really paying attention to what was playing on it. 

 

Of course he wanted things to go back to normal. He didn’t want to have to separate his life into a such a neat and clean  _ before  _ and  _ after.  _ When he had his legs and when he  _ didn’t.  _ He wanted that more than anything. He wanted to be able to provide for Dick, like he was supposed to do. He wanted to get back to his job and his  _ life.  _ He couldn’t imagine never traveling for a job again, never crouching down in some exotic dirt with the wind toying with his tied back hair. That wasn’t the life he wanted, for himself or for Dick.

 

But he didn’t want Dick to think he was weak for not being able to adapt and deal with the cards he was dealt. He didn’t honestly think Dick would feel that way, but he couldn’t stop himself from being concerned. Since when was he such a worrier? 

 

Slade thought back to the tarot reading Dick had given him those few days ago. The last card had meant a transformation. He remembered that clearly. Maybe this  _ was _ the way he was supposed to deal with his hand of cards. 

 

He thought about Barbara and how she had become stronger after she had been introduced to her chair. He didn’t think she would look down on him for doing what he needed to be happy again. Everyone knew he was feeling cooped up, confined and miserable. 

 

His eye caught on the bright pink strands around his wrist and he remembered Lian’s soft and sweet presence in his lap.

 

Slade ran a hand through his hair, letting his head drop into his hands and held it there. Dick came in without him noticing and gently rubbed his shoulders. “You okay, babe?” 

 

Slade hummed and nodded, his head arching back into the touch as Dick rubbed a bit harder, working at the knots in his shoulders. Slade turned his head and kissed Dick’s forearm. Dick helped Slade get settled onto the couch and curled up against him, his body fitting perfectly beneath Slade’s arm. They sat in silence, neither really paying attention to the soft noises the television was making, white noise in the background of Slade’s thoughts. 

 

“What’re you thinking about?” Dick asked, and Slade could have laughed. 

 

“Am I that obvious?” 

 

“A little.” Dick smiled. “I can practically hear the gears turning up there.” 

 

Dick snuggled closer and Slade sighed, knowing he would have to discuss this with Dick before he made a decision anyway. 

 

“I’m thinking about Roy’s offer.” 

 

It was Dick’s turn to hum now. He ran a hand up Slade’s chest, leaving it pressed into the center. “What about it?” 

 

“I don’t know.” Slade admitted. “What do you think?” 

 

“I think it’s a good opportunity.” 

 

Slade nodded. Dick was right, it was. He licked his lips before speaking again, knowing Dick was watching as his tongue darted out and back in. “I think I want to.” 

 

“I thought you might.” 

 

Slade was silent for a moment, sucked his tongue. He huffed a breath, it came out angrier than he had meant it to. “You won’t think I’m weak for doing it? Taking the easy way out instead of just getting used to being like this?” 

 

His question had Dick sitting up, shifting Slade’s gaze to him. His eyes were wide, honest. “Slade, I could never  _ ever  _ think you were weak. Especially after this. It’s not an easy way out, either. I’m sure the leg will take some getting used to. And you’ve gone this long, and we both know this isn’t the life for you.”

 

Slade looked away from Dick, eye to the ceiling, suddenly blinking back the feeling of tears. He swore he’d cried more in the past month than he had the rest of his life combined. He took a few deep breaths before whispering. “If you think so.” 

 

“Slade.” Dick sighed, hooking a hand under Slade’s chin - a gesture they had both become comfortable with. “Look at me, bear.” 

 

Slade did, and was surprised to find tears glistening in Dick’s eyes as well. Slowly, Dick reached down to grasp Slade’s leg, palm flush against his stump. “I love you. Nothing is ever going to change that. I love you like this,” Dick punctuated his words with a gentle squeeze and Slade felt warmth traveling up his thigh. “And I’ll love you with a new leg, too. I’ll love you and be here for you no matter what you decide.” 

 

Slade leaned forward and kissed Dick on the mouth, slipping his tongue between his lips for the briefest moment. “If I take Roy’s help…” Slade started once he parted from Dick. “He knows that I’m not going to stop...doing what I do, right?”

 

“He knows. We all know. Like he said, he doesn’t always agree, but he doesn’t always agree with what Jay does either, you know?”

 

“But that’s different, little bird.” 

 

“Roy isn’t like that. He wants to help. He isn’t going to hold his help over you.” Slade was silent as Dick’s words sunk in. He took a deep breath and nodded. 

 

“I want to. I do.”

 

“I just want you to be happy and comfortable and feel safe again. That’s all I ever want for you. If you think this will help, we can do it. I’ll be with you every step.” 

 

Slade snorted. “If that was a pun, Dick Grayson, I’m breaking up with you as soon as I can walk again.” 

 

Dick collapsed against Slade’s chest, laughing. Slade ruffled Dick’s hair and kissed the crown of his head before Dick’s hand slid up his shirt to splay against his chest hair. “You wouldn’t leave me, old man.” 

 

“You’re damn right, I don’t know how to be without you.” 

 

*

 

“It’s not going to be the most comfortable at first,” Roy said, kneeling down on the ground in front of Slade. His hair was pulled back in a sloppy ponytail, as he unlocked the case he had come over with. “Trust me, I know.”

 

Slade nodded. His eyes darted to the gleam of Roy’s arm, the red metal that didn’t even pretend to be what it wasn’t. He never once tried to make it look like flesh. There was something commendable to that, Slade figured.

 

The case flipped open, and Roy’s hands moved carefully. “The metal is shockingly light,” he said, as Dick, who was sitting next to Slade on the bed, leaned over, trying to see around the case’s lid. “Vic does even better work than my first arm. And I made sure he got my two cents.” Roy paused, glanced up. “He was  _ not _ thrilled about it, but he did it. So just… remember to thank him someday, Slade.”

 

“I can do that,” Slade admitted, as the length of metal rolled onto Roy’s lap. Roy shoved the case away, and Slade got his first real look at the cybernetic prosthetic. It was gunmetal, gleaming under the light- not quite as black as his suit, but still dark. It seemed smooth to the touch, gorgeous lines and grooves like Roy’s arm.

 

Slade shifted, hands on the bed as he pushed himself closer to the edge. “What can I do to help?” Dick asked, as Roy leaned up, bent the leg at the knee.

 

“Hold his hand,” Roy admitted, “just make sure he doesn’t crush your knuckles.”

 

Slade glanced over at Dick, and when his boyfriend’s hand crept beneath his, Slade gripped it tightly. He glanced at Roy, gave a nod, and Roy eased the metal up against him. It was cold, and Slade sucked in a breath, as Roy’s fingers slid along the top ridge. They pressed down, and Slade felt the metal push tighter to him, like it was suctioning to his skin, before the tender skin of his scars felt like it was being  _ pierced _ .

 

He growled, squeezed Dick’s hand, and Roy kept the leg steady. “It’s making the initial connection to your nerves,” Roy said, “it takes a few minutes.” It burned, and Slade’s other hand balled into the blanket. He gritted his teeth, but otherwise kept himself quite, focusing on the heat of Dick’s hand within his own. The burn was punctuated by sharp stinging moments, before he swore he felt like his bone was vibrating. It ached up to his hip, and Slade tipped his head back, sucking in a breath.

 

“You’re doing great,” Dick said, sliding closer. “It’s okay.”

 

“Just give it another minute or two,” Roy said, and Slade nodded. His exhaled, gave a little pained yelp when a sharp pain shot up his leg, squeezed Dick’s hand so damn hard the man winced. But then it began to subside, slowly, until it was a dull buzz. Uncomfortable, but tolerable.

 

Roy’s fingers slid up over the metal, onto Slade’s bare thigh. He realized that despite Roy’s metal fingers they were  _ warm _ . “It feels secure,” he offered. “You might be tender for the next few days- maybe less, considering your healing, but eventually you won’t feel much of anything when putting it on.”

 

“How is it staying on?” Dick asked, leaning over now, studying the dark metal.

 

“The end has a molecular structure that connects with human tissue. Specifically, it hones in on a single person’s DNA. Trying to take it off without powering down would be like trying to rip a bone in half. It thinks it’s meant to be a part of your body. Here,” Roy pushed at Slade’s thigh, forced his legs open wider. “This top ridge right here is how you turn it on and off. The case will fit under the bed or wherever you want to store it. Granted, you could never take it off if you  _ want _ , but…” Roy paused, shrugged, “It’s nice sometimes to just  _ be _ without them.”

 

Slade nodded, and Roy stood up, taking a step back. He motioned for Slade to move, and Slade leaned forward, pressed his feet down towards the floor. And for the first time he  _ felt _ it, like he used to. Under two feet. His breath rushed out, and he stared up at Roy, who was smirking, confident and  _ proud _ .

 

“It connects with your nerves. You’re going to  _ feel _ . It’s not exactly the same, not as good, but it’s better than nothing. Here,” Roy offered his hand. “Stand up.” Slade stared at his hand for a moment, before he pulled his own from Dick’s, grasped Roy’s metal hand and let the man pull him up.

 

For the first time in well over a month, Slade stood on his own.

 

For a moment, Slade didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. His leg ached, the end sore as it was nestled into the new prosthetic, but it was tolerable. Especially if he could do  _ this _ .

 

Dick was hopping off the bed, and as Slade let go of Roy’s hand, he turned, faced his boyfriend, stared  _ down _ at him. Dick’s lips cracked into a grin, and he took the few steps to Slade, reached up and wrapped his arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

 

“Baby,” he said, shaking, “ _ look at you _ .”

 

Slade wrapped his arms tightly around Dick, squeezed him flush to his body and didn’t want to let go. He nuzzled into his hair, and let himself remember this feeling, like he was larger than his lover. Like he could wrap himself around Dick, engulf him, give him the world and  _ be _ that world.

 

It was sweeter than he swore it had ever been.

 

*

 

Roy stayed for hours. He coached Slade through the awkward relearning of steps. He gave them the thorough breakdown of how every bit of the technology worked, how to maintenance it. He stayed until it was dark, and he had no other choice but to leave or he’d miss tucking Lian into bed.

 

Slade was able to stand at the door, to say goodbye. He shook Roy’s hand- and then without being able to stop himself, he pulled the man into a hug. Never in his life could he have pictured himself in that moment, but he  _ owed _ Roy, for this. Owed Jason too.

 

And owed it to Dick, since they were his family.

 

“Take care of yourself,” Roy said, “I’ll call you guys tomorrow.” Dick and Slade nodded, watched him go, before Dick was closing the door, turning the lock and putting up the chain for the night.

 

“So, how do you feel-” he didn’t get to finish his question, before Slade was grabbing his shoulder, turning him and pinning him up against the door. Dick gasped, head tipped back, and then Slade’s mouth was covering his own, kissing him roughly. Dick reached up, squeezed Slade’s biceps, bucking his hips out of pure instinct when Slade’s boxed him in.

 

Slade kissed him until his lungs burned, pulled away only because he knew they both needed to breathe. Dick sucked his breath in, dark blue eyes wide and pretty, and Slade pressed his forehead against his. “I owe you so much,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “For all of this. For what you’ve done for me.”

 

Dick’s hands slid up along his arms, rubbed the muscle there. “You never owe me anything,” he whispered, as Slade lifted his head, kissed Dick’s temple.

 

“I owe you the world,” Slade argued, before he leaned back, bent down slightly and grasped Dick, hauling him up. “I’d like to give you that for a night, at least.” Dick gave a little surprised shriek, as he was hoisted over Slade’s shoulder. Slade turned, and while each step hurt, especially with Dick’s added weight, it was worth it. Worth it to cross their apartment with his hands firmly on Dick’s thighs, as his boyfriend laughed and squirmed, clutched at his tshirt. Worth it to do what, for a time, he swore he would never be able to do again.

 

He headed for the bed, tossed Dick onto it, who flopped onto his back, laughing. Slade leaned over him, one hand braced on the bed as the other worked at the fly of his jeans. Dick arched, smiling as he reached for his jeans, shoving at them when Slade got them open. His briefs slid down as well, over the crease of muscles from his hips towards his groin- and when his jeans reached his mid thigh, Slade’s hands were back, pulling those down as well. He leaned over, mouthed at the tight muscle along Dick’s pelvis, lips dragging over the coarse, dark hair of his groin.

 

Dick gasped, dug his shoulder blades into the bed as he felt his cock throb. He swore he’d never reacted to anyone touching him the way he did when it was  _ Slade _ , and when Slade took his entire, half hard cock into his mouth, Dick let out a cry, squeezing his eyes shut.

 

“ _ Baby _ ,” he gasped, bucking towards Slade’s mouth. Slade groaned, felt Dick’s cock swelling further over his tongue. “ _ Slade _ !” Slade’s head bobbed, easing over most of Dick’s erection, one of his hands splaying on his belly, helping to hold him down. Dick whined, biting at his lip, trying so hard to buck up into Slade’s mouth.

 

Slade pulled off with a wet  _ pop _ , pulling away and grasping Dick’s hips. He flipped him over, had Dick’s cock pinned between his body and the blanket, was he dragged his jeans and underwear off, tossed them to be forgotten on the bedroom floor. Dick could barely breathe, before he felt Slade’s hands on his ass, squeezing dark flesh. And then a rush of warm air, as Slade parted his cheeks, exhaled-

 

When his tongue lapped over Dick’s hole, Dick cried out. Slade groaned, felt his cock throbbing in his boxer briefs. It tented the fabric, left a wet smear spreading along the front, as he speared his tongue, pushed it into Dick’s ass. Dick cried out his name again, shaking, as Slade kneaded his ass, felt tight muscle and shockingly soft skin.

 

He growled again, his hips canting forward, wanting so badly to bury himself deep in the heat against his mouth. Dick squirmed, pushed back, got his hands in the bed so he could push himself up slightly. “Gonna- kill me,” he panted out, as Slade’s tongue lapped up over his hole.

 

“I’ll bring you back to life,” Slade mumbled, and Dick  _ believed _ him. Slade gave him one last, long lick, before he was pushing up, taking the few steps to the nightstand. He ignored the ache in his thigh, nearly ripped the drawer open to get the lube. When he came back, Dick had rolled over, was pushing himself up on his shaking knees. He nearly ripped his shirt off, tossed it away, and beckoned Slade over with a curl of his fingers. Slade obeyed, didn’t know if there was  _ ever _ a way to deny Dick when he had that look in his eyes- settled directly in front of him.

 

Dick leaned forward, grasped Slade’s hips and nuzzled at his clothed cock, kissed at the head and lapped at the salty precum leaking through his underwear. Slade groaned, reached down to pet his hair, as Dick gripped the elastic waistband, dragged it down until Slade’s cock bobbed free, brushed against his soft mouth.

 

“You’re so hard,” Dick mewled, one hand wrapping around the base, easing a slow stroke up Slade’s shaft. Dick leaned in, pressed a kiss to his cockhead, then down, below it. Slade shuddered out a breath, continued to pet Dick’s hair lovingly.

 

This felt like what it used to be. This felt like so many past nights, and for a moment Slade swore he was living a dream. He forgot the ache in his leg from still standing, was so focused on Dick’s mouth, the flick of his warm tongue, the drag of his soft lips, that the world utterly melted around him. He tangled his fingers in Dick’s hair, as Dick mouthed down his shaft, pressed a kiss into the white curls at his groin. He moved his hands back to Slade’s underwear, pushed at them again, and Slade took the hint, forced himself to pull back enough so he could stood over, pushed them down his legs.

 

As he did so, Dick reached out, took the lube from his hand. He popped it open, pouring a generous amount onto his fingers, before he settled back on his knees, supporting himself on one hand. He reached down, slid his hand beneath his cock and balls, ignored the ache in his shoulder from the stretch as he rubbed his fingers around his hole.

 

“Little bird,” Slade breathed, and Dick opened his mouth, bared his tongue. Slade groaned, got both his hands in Dick’s hair, eased himself forward, until Dick could suck at his cockhead. Slade forced himself to keep his hips still, to simply revel in the feeling of Dick’s tongue rolling over his cockhead. His boyfriend groaned around him, the wet sound of his fingers fucking his ass making Slade’s thighs quake. “You’re so perfect,” Slade whispered, brushing Dick’s hair back. Dick squeezed his eyes shut, color rising on his cheeks, and Slade almost choked when he took a bit more of his cock into his mouth.

 

He knew what praise had always done to Dick Grayson. 

 

Dick shuddered, and Slade knew that was a third finger, pushing into him. He tugged at Dick’s hair, easing him back off his cock, biting back a groan as he watched saliva and precum string between his cock and Dick’s pretty, wet lips. “You’ll make me come,” Slade warned, and Dick,  _ damn him _ , smirked.

 

“Yeah?” He twisted his fingers, groaned. “Where’s your stamina,  _ old man _ ?”

 

The jab was playful, was reminiscent of so many damn nights together. Slade grinned, slid a hand down to grip Dick’s chin and doubled over, jerked his head up. Dick gasped, as Slade squeezed. “I’ll show you stamina,  _ boy _ .”

 

Dick shivered, his eyes daring Slade, and the life in him, it was what had always made Slade fall in love with him, every damn night. He let go of Dick, shoved him back, forced his fingers from his body. Dick sprawled out, and Slade grasped his legs, flipped him over. He grasped his own tshirt, tugged it off over his head, as Dick settled.

 

“Hands and knees,” he said, and Dick was all too happy to scramble up, as Slade picked the lube up. He poured some into his hand, tossed the bottle down and slowly stroked up over his cock, as Dick lifted his ass, glanced back over his shoulder. His eyes were  _ dancing _ , desire and joy mingling there, and Slade reached for him, got one hand on his hip to ease him back.

 

The other braced the base of his cock, and he managed to keep his control long enough to rub his cockhead up over Dick’s hole, to tease him. Dick groaned, turned away and hung his head, spreading his legs further. Slade inhaled, to steady himself, and very carefully eased forward, pushing into Dick’s body.

 

Dick moaned, the most obscene and beautiful sound Slade had ever heard, as he settled against his ass, fully inside him. Dick lifted his head, and when Slade pulled back, moved to keep his thrusts slow, Dick was shoving himself back onto him. Slade groaned, both his hands grasping at Dick’s ass and hips, squeezing, as his boyfriend took complete control, fucked himself on Slade’s cock without a damn care.

 

“Slade,  _ Sl-ade _ ,” Dick gasped, “ _ draga _ you feel so good.” Dick was shaking around him, pure hellfire and velvet, and Slade gritted his teeth, swore he’d never felt so good. He heard Dick’s cock smack his belly, with one hard thrust back, and bent over, fucked into him as reached below his body, grasped his cock and squeezed.

 

Dick gasped, sharp and loud, and Slade kissed the center of his back. And the jokes about his stamina felt like they could ring  _ true _ , because his belly was already in knots, his balls already tight. But god, he hadn’t had Dick like this in so long, had thought he never would again. There had been so little physical intimacy at all, over the  _ however many weeks _ , and Slade realized how starved he had been.

 

And, from the way Dick’s cock throbbed in his hand, how starved his lover had been, too.

 

“Fuck me harder,” Dick groaned, “ _ make me come _ .” He shoved his ass back, met Slade’s hard thrust, before Slade was straightening up, pulling out of him. Dick whined, craned his neck to glance back, as Slade took a step back from the bed.

 

“Come here.” Dick was quick to turn, to climb off the bed. His cock was dripping, had left a smear of precum on his belly. Slade grabbed his wrist, guided him back a few steps, before he was turning him, shoving him back against the wall. He pinned him there, pressed his mouth to Dick’s in a sloppy, desperate kiss, licked into his mouth and taunted the points of his teeth. Dick shivered, and Slade reached down, broke the kiss so stoop slightly, grasp Dick’s hips.

 

Dick’s eyes lit up, and he reached for Slade’s shoulders, grasped them tightly as he hopped up. Slade held his weight easily, had so many nights before, shoving Dick up the wall until he could seat him perfectly over his cock again. Dick groaned, his legs locking around Slade’s hips, his head tipping back, nearly banging against the wall as Slade thrust up into him.

 

Dick’s nails dug into his shoulders. The thrusts were rough, not as deep as before, but Slade knew Dick was close enough it didn’t matter. This was more about proving he could do this, again. About feeling like the man he had always been, even when he felt utterly lost in despair.

 

“Slade!” DIck was yelling, before he pulled one hand from his shoulders. He reached down, fisted his own cock, mouth falling open in damn near close to a scream as he stroked himself  _ twice _ , before he shot up all over his own belly. Cum splattered his ribs, even, thick pearly smudges all over his dark skin, as his body clenched around Slade, pulled him in deeper. Slade groaned, gave up any pretense of proving how long he could last, and came with his own gruff growl of Dick’s name.

 

Dick whimpered, and Slade bowed his head, pressed his forehead to his shoulder as he panted. He could feel each movement of Dick’s breaths, before he felt his boyfriend  _ laughing _ . Slade smiled at the sound, Dick’s hand still on his shoulder squeezing. He could feel Dick’s entire body rumbling with it. Slade chuckled himself, felt so damn good it had to come out somehow.

 

Slade hoisted Dick up a little higher, pulled out of him, and Dick unwrapped his legs. “I don’t know if I can stand,” Dick admitted, as Slade helped to ease him down. He leaned forward into Slade, nuzzling his shoulder, breathing in his sweat, the scent of his skin. “That was…” Dick paused, licked his lips, glanced up at Slade, “ _ amazing _ .”

 

Slade curled his arm around his lover, held him tight. His smile faltered as he shifted his weight, and the ache in his thigh became apparent. He must have winced, because Dick’s face grew serious then.

 

“Let’s sit down,” he said, “I think we both need it.” He took Slade’s hand, walked him back to the bed, and Slade sat down heavily, sighing as the pressure was taken off. Dick leaned over him, kissed his forehead. “Let me clean up,” he said, not even bothering to gesture at the mess he had made of himself. “Okay?”

 

Slade nodded, watched Dick turn and walk naked from their bedroom. When he was gone he reached down, got his hands on his thigh and rubbed at the muscle. He winced, let his fingers rub down towards the metal of his new leg. They ghosted over it, and it was warmer than he had expected. Just like Roy’s hand had been. Like Roy had told him- it wouldn’t get as warm as human skin, but the technology regulated heat so it wouldn’t be freezing.

 

He was still touching it when Dick came back, a few minutes later. His boyfriend walked right up to him, reaching down to cover one of Slade’s hands. “Does it hurt?”

 

“Yeah,” Slade admitted.

 

“Let’s take it off for the night. Besides, after  _ that _ , I’m ready to sleep the night away.”

 

They redressed first, Dick walking across the room to their dresser, coming back with tshirts for both of them. Slade slipped into his as Dick stretched, put it on, before he was climbing into his briefs. Slade couldn’t keep himself from leaning forward, when Dick had them around his thighs, was edging them up- couldn’t keep himself from pushing Dick’s tshirt up, kissing at his belly, up towards his ribs.

 

Dick sighed, tipped his head back, got his briefs in place and enjoyed a few lingering seconds of Slade’s mouth, before he moved. Slade stood up, if only to get into his own underwear, before he was settling back down. Dick reached out to help, and Slade let him push along the metal of his leg, powering down the technology. It took a moment before it unlocked, and Slade felt it slip away from his tender skin. Slade groaned, and Dick took the weight of it, pulling it away and getting down on the floor, to settle it back in its case.

 

Once he had it tucked under the bed, he was leaning back up, looking at Slade’s leg. The skin was red, inflamed and tender, and he dared to reach out, rub his fingers along the scars. Slade hissed out a breath, and Dick went to pull his hand away, but SLade reached out, grasped his wrist and kept his hand were it was. “No,” he said, “You can touch. Only you.”

 

Dick smiled at that, over the trust he knew it took. The trust Slade had proven over all these weeks he had in him.

 

*

 

Slade lay awake, with Dick nestled into his chest. He had one arm hooked around him, was listening to his soft, shallow breaths, the otherwise silence in the room. He had drifted quickly, when they’d laid down- and Slade was tired, yet he couldn’t quite seem to make his eye close just yet.

 

He squeezed his arm tighter around Dick, felt his boyfriend sigh into his chest. Slade smiled to himself, didn’t cringe when Dick arched his leg, when it passed where Slade’s leg could have been, pushed up against his other knee. When he realized he hadn’t reacted, a warmth spread in his chest. A heat because this was a step, another huge step in what felt like an endless world of recovery.

 

For the first time, Slade thought he saw an end. He knew it wasn’t this simple, not after so many days and nights, not after so much struggle. He knew he’d have days, moments where things crept back into his mind, seeped into his consciousness and held a vice like grip.

 

He’d face them, when they came. It was all he could do- and knowing that,  _ accepting that _ , felt good. But more so, he felt like himself, again. He knew it would take getting used to, that he wasn’t ready to launch himself half way across the world again, but the thought of it, that it was a  _ possibility _ , that it was coming-

 

It felt good.

 

Slade sighed, felt Dick stirring, his boyfriend mumbling in his sleep. He glanced down, and knew that even if he was physically ready for that, there was no way he could tear himself from home just yet. Not when he felt he had so much to thank Dick for, had so much love he needed to shower him with.

 

He’d stayed with him, when so many people wouldn’t have. They’d been through hell and come out singed but  _ alive _ . And in the end, that was all that mattered. They were alive, they were coping, they were  _ moving on _ .

 

Together. The only way Slade could ever envision. The only way he wanted- because there was no one he trusted with his life, his sanity, his thoughts and hopes and dreams and  _ heart _ , like Dick Grayson.


End file.
